#i am usually the kind of person who needs an hour and coffee

[crowehorte]

Good morning to all my new followers who AREN'T spambots! I'm so happy to see you! I'm not a Love and Light witch, but I am full of love and light and I hope I get to share some of that with you.

Today is Wednesday! I'm going to be cleaning my Shelves of Skulls today, so once everything is shiny and free of dust, I intend to post pictures. I don't 100% consider it an altar space, but it is where I store everything, and I do have it Arranged(tm) in an altar like way.

Fun fact! I do most of my witchcraft at my computer desk. It's just easier that way.

[kentoxo]

friction | reader (f) x crush!nanami pt. 3

pairing: reader (f) x crush!nanami

synopsis: [AU] you have always had a crush on nanami. since the day you were hired as his personal assistant, you've been right at his side combating numbers and making money within the finance department for the company you two worked for. but, things take a turn when nanami catches wind of your feelings, and rejects you. little did he know the weight of his mistake.

warnings: angst, heartbreak, sexual tension, jealousy (future smut)

a/n: another part out! it's a tad bit lengthy, so sorry about that! i also wanna apologize about how crazy the taglist looks (im so sorry). it wasnt letting me tag yall so i just spaced it out to make sure yall get alerted. if anyone has advise on how to fix that, pls let me know

all parts: pt.1, pt.2,

December | Tokyo, Japan | 4:45 A.M

It was finally Thursday, and you were spending your early morning tangoing with your vacuum. 

Despite doing a deep clean yesterday after work, your paranoia was over the roof. Nanami’s visit consumed you like a parasite, with nothing relieving your nerves. Even the sun could not bear witness to your franticness as you long turned on all the lights and began your cleaning venture. You didn’t want to risk Nanami calling you a slob if he saw even one wrapper on the floor. Nanami was quite the meticulous man after all, his eyes containing radars for this kind of stuff. 

As you began to dust your already dusted coffee table, you quickly grabbed your phone and dialed Haibara’s number. After a few rings, you hear a click and  groaning sound. “Nnnmmm… who?” He barely whispers. 

“Yu, get up!” You hiss. Haibara and you have long established your friendship, backing up your ability to drop honorifics. “I need your help, and now.” 

“Y/N?” He groans out. You hear some shuffling before a long period of silence. You continue to clean while Haibara tries waking up again. “It’s not even 6… why?” Though his voice was deep and hoarse from exhaustion, he sounded nothing less than a child complaining about waking up early to go to school. 

You huff, “don’t you remember? I texted you after work that Nanami is coming to my house today– in like an hour!” 

“‘n why does this have to do with me?” His voice sounded scratchy from the speaker of the phone. 

“What should I do? What kind of couches does he like? House smells?” 

“Y/N, it’s too early for this,” Haibara says through a yawn. “You wouldn’t even be able to buy another couch, even if you wanted to. No furniture store is open at this time.” 

You try to continue the conversation, but you were met with snores in response. Hanging up the phone, you let out a sigh. Nanami was coming over for work, not to criticize your home designing choices. You cover your face with your hands, feeling your cheeks tingle from embarrassment. “What am I doing?” You murmur to yourself. There truly was no need to be nervous. This was not a date. 

Even so… 

You spent the rest of your morning prior to your shift making sure you looked nice. You style your hair neatly, drape on a comfortable jumpsuit (despite Nanami’s comforting words in regards to you wearing pajamas during his visit), and begin working on coffee. You had managed to ask Tae (your newly hired corporate barista) for some instruction on how he makes Nanami’s favorite coffee. You certainly questioned the ingredients and methods, but you continued to follow the instructions. As you were pouring skimmed milk into black coffee, a gentle knock was heard at your front door. 

Your heart threatened to escape against your chest. You quickly give yourself a look in your hallway mirror before rushing to the door. Shaky hands sheepishly unlock the door, introducing you to a Nanami you have never seen before. 

Here he was before you, in a trenchcoat, black crewneck and black joggers. His eyes revealed his true exhaustion, with his under eyes slightly darker than usual. His hair was not parted from the side, but rather slicked back and wet as you assumed he showered before arriving at your place. True to the weather, his cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold. You saw him let out a relieving sigh when introduced to the warmth of your home. 

“Goodmorning Y/N,” Nanami hums, his voice hoarse from not being 100% awake. His hands were loaded with his briefcase and a big bag. Judging from the smell, it was the breakfast that Nanami promised he’d buy. 

Your mouth felt dry in awe, “good morning to you as well, Nanami. Let me take your coat for you.” 

“Ah, I’d hate to get your hands cold,” Nanami waives your offer. He puts down his things gently, being mindful of the breakfast. He begins to strip off his coat, and carefully hangs it on the rack by the door. “It’s unforgiving out there.” 

There were snowflakes on his eyelashes, “is it snowing hard out there? I haven’t pulled the curtains yet.” 

Nanami smiles and nods, giving his head a little shake to remove the remaining snow from his head, “I’m glad I didn’t invite you to my house instead. Otherwise, you’d be freezing like me.” 

You burn up, and quickly gesture to the slippers on the floor. “P-please feel free to get comfortable in the living room! I have the heat in there.”

He bows curtly, “thank you for having me.” You watch as the tall man walks towards your living room, taking a seat on the bigger of the two couches. You rush into your room and retrieve two blankets. Joining Nanami in the living room, you offer him your warmest quilt. 

“This’ll keep you warm while you’re here,” you hum. Nanami takes your offer and spreads the blanket over his legs. You see him shiver a bit before getting cozy in the blanket. 

“You’re too kind of a host,” Nanami expresses his gratitude once more. He then eyes around before chuckling, “ah, I left our breakfast and my laptop at the front–” 

“I’ll get it!” You jump at your words, quickly retrieving the items. You pass him his briefcase, and take the breakfast to your kitchen counter. “I wrote my wifi password on the table, please feel free to connect to it. A-and…” 

You walk over to your coffee maker, and lift up the mug of coffee you prepared for him. You carefully hold it with two hands, making a slow walk towards Nanami. He quickly understands, and raises his hands as high and close to yours as possible while remaining seated on the couch. Cold fingertips brush against your knuckles. He holds it delicately, his eyes narrowing down at the froth at the top. “Is this…?” 

“Your favorite coffee,” you say quietly. You look away shyly, hoping he didn’t see your nerves in your face. “I asked our recently hired barista how he usually makes your cup of coffee when I went to offer him the position. And so… yeah.” You shuffle in your place, waiting for Nanami to take a sip. But your nerves get to you first and stab at your calm facade, “andifyoudon’tlikeit,I’llbuyonefromoutside–”

Nanami takes a big swig from the hot brew, his Adams Apple protruding his throat from each gulp. A drip of coffee decorates his bottom lip, threatening to either drop on his pants, or begin its slide down his chin. He puts the mug down on one of the coasters of the coffee table and drags his sleeved wrist against his lips. “Y/N,” he emits slowly. “That was… very delicious.” 

You could melt right then and there. “R-really?” You felt the bubbles in your words. You were practically floating like one! His reassuring smile made your heart skip several beats. “I would never, ever judge you, but I didn’t realize that fig could work with coffee.” 

Nanami smiles warmly, his eyes wistful with nostalgia. He takes out his laptop and turns it on, rubbing the mousepad aimlessly with the tip of his index. “I was addicted to sweets, if that surprises you,” Nanami recounts fondly. “My mom was frustrated, unable to really keep sweets away from me. She was too nice, and would submit whenever I asked for a candy bar at the market.”

You giggle a bit, your hand covering your lips to mask the smile you had. “It’s crazy to think that you, Nanami, would be a sugarhead.” 

Nanami lets out a light chuckle, “surely, I like sweets every now and then. Just… in moderation. My mother was the catalyst for the dent in my sweet tooth. She stopped adding sugar in my tea. Rather, she would add half a fig into my cup, and pour the hot tea over it.” 

From the memory, your body suddenly felt warm and cozy. Imagining the combination of a fresh fig with green tea being poured over it… it was quite soothing. “It sounds like she was a lovely mother,” you hum. Your smile widened when seeing Nanami’s hazel eyes warm from the recollection. “What made you decide to add fig into your coffee instead?” 

Nanami shrugged, “nostalgia, I suppose. It doesn’t offer the coffee much of a sweetener, but you can definitely taste it. I suppose the memory is what makes it sweet.” 

You were floating. Being able to speak to Nanami like this– it felt like everything. You two don’t hang outside of work, besides holiday parties or work trips. Even then, all these activities are imbued with your job. Although Nanami was in your house to work with you, it felt different. The two of you can speak freely without eyes constantly flickering to you. As you were lost in your thoughts, Nanami cleared his throat. 

“Please feel free to clock in and start eating,” Nanami hums. He adjusts the blanket to cover his feet. “Today's work isn’t too crazy, and I’d rather you feel full and awake.” 

You take kindly to his consideration and return to the kitchen. You take a platter plate and begin to unload the bag of breakfast he picked up. You start taking out several breakfast sandwiches, your eyes wide at how many there were in that bag. “Nanami… how many did you get?” You exclaim, holding one sandwich in each hand. He looks over at you and smirks amusingly. 

“I didn’t know what you liked,” Nanami said, his smile still being tickled from your shock. “I just got one of everything.” 

You smile from his smile, and begin to stack the individually stacked sandwiches on the platter. Leaving the one you want on the counter, you bring the sandwiches near him on the coffee table. You look down at his mug, the coffee-soaked half-fig sat in the center of it. “Would you like another cup?” You offer kindly. 

His eyes meet yours, and after a pause, he nods slowly. You grab his mug and go over to the kitchen to prepare another cup. As you did, you decided to make two cups of his favorite coffee. The curiosity picked at you– you wanted to know what Nanami’s favorite coffee tastes like. As you prepared it, Nanami was tapping away at his computer. You tap on your phone to check the time, and realize you need to clock in now. Once you do that, you check your calendar and turn to look at Nanami. 

“You have a meeting in 15 minutes with the head of Sales and Strategy,” you remind him. 

“Thank you, Y/N,” Nanami hums from your couch, “I got so into responding to emails, I definitely would have forgotten. So, thank you again.” 

“Of course!” You chime. With both coffees done, you bring both of the mugs over to the coffee table and quickly go back to fetch your breakfast sandwich. You begin to strip the parchment paper from the sandwich and begin to eat it in the kitchen, with a few crumbs falling on the granite top. You walk over to the smaller sofa and set down your breakfast sandwich. You grab your own laptop from the drawer underneath the coffee table and begin to boot it up. 

You ate while waiting, enjoying the crisp bacon and cheddar cheese in the sandwich. Nanami looks over at you while you quietly dance to yourself. “I assume it’s good?” He begins, a small curve at the end of his lips. Cheeks warm from his words, and you nod while chewing on your bite. He leans over and brings his hand to your face. You froze while you felt his thumb gently rub your chin of all the crumbs you accrued as you ate. “Ah, m’sorry,” Nanami quickly retracts his hand, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m really sorry if that made you uncomfortable, Y/N.” 

“Ah, it’s okay!” You quickly waive his concerns, “you were just trying to help is all. I appreciate it��” 

Silence ensues between the two of you. But Nanami stopped typing once more to comment on the two mugs. “Did you make yourself a cup of coffee as well? It doesn’t look like what you usually get.” 

You shook your head, “it’s a bit too cold for iced coffee. Plus, I wanted to try your coffee and see what the hype is all about.” 

He smiles sheepishly, “you might not care for it much. It’s a bit too bitter.” 

You shrug, “I’m still curious.” And that same curiosity bit you in the ass. You carefully lift the mug and take a sip, the taste of hot, acrid coffee tormenting your tongue. Quickly placing the mug down, you give Nanami the stink eye. “You… are very brave,” you let out as you take another bite of your sandwich. 

Nanami lets out a genuine laugh, “it isn’t for everyone, truly. But it warms my heart that you were willing to try it.” 

You look over at him, noticing the wistfulness of his eyes. It was worth it, albeit the foul taste. “It tasted much sweeter in my head when you talked about it,” you softly hum. “I’ll… continue to enjoy it vicariously through you.” 

“You’re good with not being mean, Y/N,” Nanami says through another gentle laugh, “I envy that about you a bit.” It was like he was shooting arrows directly at your heart. “A-ah, there’s no need to make everything a bad thing,” you let out nervously. You begin to log into your computer, “just because it’s not for me, doesn’t mean I should make you feel bad.” Nanami agrees with a nod, “you’re absolutely right.” He shifts a bit to get more comfortable in his seat, and looks down to make sure his feet are really covered. When he does, his eyes saunter towards the spare slippers you lent him. “Ah, Y/N, I hope I’m not intruding in you and your partner's space.” 

Where did that come from? “Hm?” You eye him curiously. 

He points down to the slippers, “these slippers are much bigger than your own.” 

“I like to keep a pair for when I have visitors like yourself,” you reason, “but you are absolutely not intruding. I’m… very single.” It felt a bit embarrassing to admit that to your crush, but what can you do? You didn’t want him thinking you were taken when you were readily (hopefully) available for him. 

“I see,” he comments quietly. Keeping his eyes glued to his computer, Nanami continues, “I apologize for even bringing up something sensitive like this.” 

You shake your hand, “it’s completely fine! Honestly, I don’t mind at all.” Fiddling with your thumbs, you look over shyly at your boss, “I’m like an open book so… whatever you are curious about, I don’t mind sharing with you. I trust you… quite a lot, Nanami,” you admit, your face completely hot. 

“And I you, Y/N,” Nanami peels his eyes from his screen to meet your own. “You’ve been nothing but an asset since your transfer, and I couldn’t be more satisfied with your work ethic and capabilities.” 

You look down at your lap, with your hands finding solace on your knees. “Thank you very much,” you reply humbly, “but I wouldn’t be like this if I weren’t under your guidance. I feel like I’ve progressed much faster within the company since becoming your assistant. I don’t say this quite enough, but… I’m very grateful to you, Nanami.” 

“You might sway me with your flattery, Y/N,” Nanami teases, “your words are so soft, it feels like you’re confessing.” 

“A-ah?” You exclaim nervously. You knew he was messing around, but it almost feels like… “d-don’t get the wrong idea! I just respect you a lot, is all… nothing more!” 

Hazel eyes narrow down at your face, and Nanami lets out a sigh of relief. He hovers his hand over his chest, closing his eyes in bliss. “That’s actually quite relieving to hear,” Nanami hums. Relieving? 

“Hm?” You asked, “what do you mean?” What were you missing?

“Ah no,” Nanami begins to smile again, “I had caught wind of a rumor that I was gullible enough to believe a bit. It made it quite nervous, truth be told. But you’ve now confirmed that it was nothing more than a silly rumor.” 

“A rumor?” You felt your body go cold. 

Nanami nods, while replying to emails once again, “I overheard some of our coworkers rumor mongering. Along the lines of you having feelings towards me beyond friendly ones. But I’m glad it turned out to be false.” 

Fingertips felt like ice, and your heart transformed into glass. It shattered moments after Nanami’s words. Everything that you adored about this man was quickly turning ugly. The idealization of your boss was crumbling, with your feelings following suit. This confirmed that your crush wasn’t light– it was deep and sincere. He broke your heart while head on with your adoration. Haibara’s warnings begin to taunt your mind while your sane mind tries to tend to your heart. 

You didn’t even get the chance to confess.

He practically threw away all of your efforts. Every time you would get him coffee so he didn’t have to get it himself. Keeping the staff in check constantly so he needn’t ever worry about the progress of the department. Always organizing all of his meetings and attending to things that were considered miniscule to him. Getting the new barista hired so he could enjoy his beloved coffee within the office. Memorizing all the goods that trigger his childhood sweet tooth. 

Your throat felt tight, with your chest feeling even tighter. Tears were threatening to gloss your eyes, with the power in your hands going weak. Your body was ready to go numb, and you wished nothing more than to ask Nanami to leave your home. But work just started, and you couldn’t just kick him out in the middle of his shift.

Your feelings were hurt, but you couldn’t afford being unprofessional. You nod, “just a silly rumor.” 

You put down the breakfast sandwich, as a wave of nausea quickly entered your system. You grab your mug of coffee and your laptop. Rushing over to the kitchen, you toss out the remainder of the bitter coffee and begin to make your way to your bedroom. Nanami caught light of your stride and looked up at you, eyes asking where you were off to. 

“I have a meeting as well,” you force out, “it’s confidential.” 

“Ah, right,” Nanami accepts. “I understand. Take your time, and good luck.” He looks back at his laptop, not missing a single beat when returning to his emails. 

With that lie, you close the door behind you, run into your closet, and allow your tears to pour out. Drops spill onto your keys, but you didn’t care. Helpless hands wipe away your tears, only to find futility in its efforts. In your silent woe, you let out your own sigh of relief, despite your pain-filled cry. 

You no longer had to torture yourself with the what-if’s. You no longer had to wonder what it would be like to be Nanami’s girlfriend. Your crush was at the end of its road. 

With a struggle (through tearful lenses), you take out your phone, scroll through your messages and tap on Haibara's name.

Taglist:

@blossomedfloweroflove @numblytemporary @everyoneandtheirmothers @animechick555 @inthedarkshadows000

@m-arj-1 @julk4e @hadassery @swoozleee @angxlsatvrn

@v1x3n @s-witch-bitch @furgusonn @watyousayin @thechaoticarchivist

@simp-manhwa @5sos-wdw

[talekinesis]

Pines Family Morning Headcanons

So because I just learned that I'm apparently a morning person, I'm going to headcanon that Stan is too

But not the extroverted kind of morning person, like Mabel, who wakes up with energy and is ready to go go go

Stan wakes up early and he enjoys the quietness of being the only person up. He enjoys early mornings in the winter when it's still dark outside. He likes having the quiet time to himself so he can just sit there and drink his coffee in peace.

Ford doesn't wake up early though, he sees Stan because he didn't go to bed at all, but he is surprised to see Stan up so early.

When they were kids, Stan always slept in as long as he could and was usually grumpy in the mornings.

After a conversation, they both realize the reason Stan hated mornings back then was because he had to deal with their father and then teachers that didn't like him, and it was a more stressful time back then.

But now Stan is an adult and doesn't have to deal with anyone other than his brother or Mabel occasionally, which is company he actually enjoys, so it's worth getting up early for. Sure Mabel wakes up with a truckload of energy right off the bat but she also understood very quickly that her Grunkle enjoyed the quiet time, so she'd keep it down for him, which he was grateful for.

If she absolutely needed to get her morning energy out, she'd go outside to chase off the gnomes that get into their trash.

Dipper is not a morning person at all. He doesn't wake up with energy like his sister, and he doesn't even enjoy the quiet like his Grunkle. This kid wakes up dead to the world and it takes him time to fully wake up.

If they've gotta go somewhere early, Stan's well aware he's usually gotta give him time to wake up or just carry him out to the car. When he gets older, Stan gets him his own coffee mug and makes sure it's ready for him when he gets up.

He also makes sure Dipper doesn't just live off of Coffee like Ford does.

No one really knows Ford's stance on mornings because his sleep schedule is all sorts of fucked. If you do see him in the morning, it's because he's still up from the previous day. If he does manage to get sleep, he sleeps in late because he's exhausted.

When he was younger though, he'd naturally wake up early but still be groggy and sleepy for the next half hour, not fully waking up for a while. He wouldn't be able to fully understand something that had been spoken to him, it took him a minute to process.

-

Bonus because he's not a Pines but I just love him

Fiddleford was always a morning person, and the type to be cheerful about it. This guy woke up and would go about his morning whistling, which is something Ford put up with because Fiddleford would also make him breakfast and coffee.

He used to wake Tate up in the mornings by just flipping the light on and talking to him in a normal tone of voice (something his son hated), and he'd wake his wife up with a kiss (something she tolerated because it was him)

Today he's still a morning person, and for a while acted as the town's "rooster," as many people would be woken up by the sounds of banjo playing and know to get up and ready for the day

"Oh there's McGucket, it's 6 am, time to get up."

Even after he moves into the mansion, he still walks down to the junkyard to play because it's been routine for 30 years and it's familiar to him, and the towns people hadn't said this, but it's also comforting for them as well, because he's just always been there, it's just always been part of their daily routine

Some people never realized how much they actually liked him being there. Especially Tate, who finds the most comfort in hearing his father up and playing Banjo so early, it really does help him start the day.

[electric-blorbos]

uhh maybe ai with a reader who gives them really goofy nicknames ^__^

I think I've figured out what my problem is. I'm too worried about making really long, high quality content that I'm afraid of writing anything. As a reader I know that I love getting words, no matter how many, but as a writer I feel like nobody's gonna like it if it's short.

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams, GLaDOS from Portal, HAL 9000 from 2001 a space Odyssey

AM:

You were working the later half of a double shift, and were on your third cup of cheap coffee that night. AM was whirring away, calculating the best way to take down the Russians, and you were on constant maintenance duty. It wasn't that bad, though. AM could pretty much take care of himself. You only had to work so many hours because half of your department had been laid off or gone mysteriously missing.

"Are you falling asleep?" AM asked in his crackling voice. You looked up from your arms, blinking a few times.

"huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry, muffin muffin... I just got sleepy."

It had just slipped out, but AM's reaction was immediate. Off-air bars appeared on every monitor in the room, and the entire area was filled with a discombobulated screaming sound.

"AHWFHDHSHSHSjdhshshshaajdgHhHh2-*-h--#$&$hdhaJAAAAAAAAAAA"

You covered your ears reflexively, shakily uncovering them after a minute or so to try to grab your office phone, which was ringing off the hook.

"What the FUCK did you do!"

"You're going to have to be more specific." You muttered, trying to be heard over AM's meltdown.

"Well SOMETHING triggered the nuclear launch countdown, a reactor core meltdown, and won't stop SCREAMING! You're the only one working on AM right now, so what the hell did you do."

"He WHAT?" You ran up to the camera and pulled it into a hug, stroking it gently. It didn't really make sense, but it was all that you could think to do.

"AM, calm down... Calm down, ok?"

You softly spoke to him until his logo re-appeared onscreen. He stopped making jumbled screaming noises.

"I AM CALM!"

"Hey, AM, I'm going to need you to calm down, and cancel the nuclear launch, alright?"

AM buffered for a few seconds, before he finally cancelled it.

"...fine."

"Okay, I get it, no more silly nicknames."

"...I didn't say that."

Wheatley:

It was about time for you to get off work when your favorite little personality core slid into the room on his management rail apparatus. He was usually in charge of looking after the test subjects, but he was always eager to say hello and goodbye to you before and after work.

"Ello love!" He said happily when he saw you gathering up your things. You smiled up at him.

"Hey Pumpkin! I'm just getting off, but I can have some coffee with you in the break room if you want!"

Wheatley's rail handles popped slightly, and he flinched back at the nickname, but then he relaxed and raised his lower lens cover in an imitation of a smile.

"w- what did you just call me, love?"

"Oh, Pumpkin? Well I figured that since you're always calling me 'love', I should call you something cute! And you're sweet and round like a pumpkin, so that's your new nickname!"

"Oh, I- I see."

If Wheatley could blush, he'd be beet red right now, but he couldn't. You still kind of felt like you could see a bit more glow in his eye than usual, though.

"What, do you want me to stop?"

"NO!" He practically cut you off.

"No- no, I don't- you don't have to do that! Pumpkin! I like it! I'm your pumpkin!"

You giggled a little, and planted a kiss on his chrome.

"love you, Pumpkin!"

You left, leaving him a babbling mess.

Edgar:

You had just gotten off work, and were sitting down on the couch to enjoy your sandwich. Edgar's webcam was pointed at you, and he had his usual simple smile on his face. He was always happy to eat lunch with you, even though you didn't want to eat at the desk for fear of getting crumbs in him.

"So, do you want to watch some rom-coms?" He asked brightly. He was always so happy to see you.

"hmm... I'm not sure, pookie. Do you want me to go online and see if any new ones are out?"

You glanced up smugly to see his reaction, and thanked whatever god you could think of that you weren't epileptic. He was flashing every color in the book.

"Jesus Edgar, calm down!"

"POOKIE?????" His voice was glitching heavily when he spoke, practically in every pitch. You giggled a little. Your evil plan had worked. And just when Edgar was starting to think he was on to all your tricks, too.

"Of course, pookie! What rom-coms do you want to watch?"

"I- I'm- I mean- uh- well-"

"Aww, are you having trouble thinking? That's ok." You picked up his monitor and held it close, nuzzling your cheek up against his whirring, buzzing casing. He kept babbling awkwardly.

"Alright, take a minute, calm down."

"I'm in love with you."

"I'm in love with you too, pookie." You gave him a kiss on the top of his monitor, and set him down gently.

GLaDOS

It was a Sunday, and you were hanging out in GLaDOS's chambers with your laptop. You were playing some video games, typing away while GLaDOS watched.

"You know, you're very bad at those video games. Perhaps you should put them away and focus on me, instead."

"whatever you want, mama." You snapped your laptop shut, and immediately covered your mouth. Uh oh.

"...Uh huh." She turned her entire body to face you, your face totally red and your hands over your mouth.

"...Do you mind repeating that?"

"I said... Whatever you want"

"that wasn't all you said, was it."

You shook your head nervously, and GLaDOS made a deep chuckling sound that you could feel in the core of your chest.

"Say it again."

"W-what?"

"I said, Say. It. Again."

"M-mama..." You squeaked out, your pathetic voice cracking.

"that's a good subject."

HAL 9000:

You were just getting to work. It was pretty early in the morning, and you were holding your papers and computer in one hand and a half-eaten muffin in the other. Hal was already on, working on his regularly scheduled mission control duties.

"Good morning, y/n" Hal said cheerfully, happy as ever to see you. You smiled and nodded to him.

"good morning, Babycakes!" You gave him a quick peck on the lens, and he froze up for a few seconds.

"right. Um- good morning, y/n. It's time to get to work."

You sat down and finished your muffin, getting to work. It wasn't much of a reaction, but Hal 9000 wasn't really the reactive type. You could still tell that you'd gotten to him.

[farfromstrange]

Customer Service | Matt Murdock

Pairing: Matt Murdock x afab!reader

Summary: After a particularly rough week, all you want to do is cry. It has you on edge and makes you say things you don’t mean. After letting out your anger on your boyfriend, he makes it his mission to take care of you for a change.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ MINORS DNI, oral (f receiving), Matt Murdock eats pussy like a champ, fingering, squirting (I feel filthy), emotional hurt/comfort, no use of y/n, no pronouns, reader has female body parts, 1st person pov (?)

a/n: As someone who quit their job in customer service for the exact same reasons I have stated in this fic, this is very personal to me and self-indulgent, again. I wrote this after a particularly bad day. Sometimes I wish Matt were real so he could actually do this to me.

There is nothing in all of existence that I loathe more than people. Why I chose to work in customer service in the first place has become more and more of a mystery to me. I could have quit after the first week, I should have, but whenever the thought crosses my mind, I tell myself: ‘It’s going to get better. You will get used to it.’ I did not, in fact, get used to it. Or, I did, I just started to hate myself even more. Every day I get home from an eight-hour shift, I’m tired, I’m exhausted and I feel the desperate need to throw myself off a cliff. 

There are days when it’s easier. The elderly couple who comes in every Sunday, for example, to drink their coffee and have a lengthy conversation over a piece of cake, never fails to make me smile. They’re always kind, and forthcoming and they tip, even though I know they don’t have the money to.

Or the woman who likes to pick up lunch for her husband, she always calls me sweetheart, and she’s never bothered if her order takes just a little too long. The regulars chat me up and I like it because it makes me feel less alone behind the counter, as life passes me by and I can’t help to stare at the clock every five minutes to calculate how many hours of the day are left. They make it easier to forget about the overtime I inevitably have to put in every night. They know I don’t eat enough or smile enough or drink enough, and so they make me smile because they’re good people. 

But some continuously want to tell me how to do my job, the one I’ve given blood and sweat for to master down to the smallest detail, and those who treat me like I’m responsible for their bad days and those who don’t care that I’m human, I just have to serve.

It’s so exhausting that some people don’t care about the workers behind the counter. I hate that my boss doesn’t seem to care either, that we don’t get paid enough, and that I’m expected to jump whenever they want me to. I got a life too, but that doesn’t matter because I’m cheap and they love to use those who never learned how to say no.

I physically can’t tell them I can’t work whenever I’m asked to pick up an extra shift, or when I’m sick or have to do anything else. It’s not even my main occupation and yet, here I am! Every day, I tell myself, I should just quit. It’s not my responsibility if they can’t treat their employees right. It’s not my responsibility they’re understaffed. I’m a student, I go to college, and I’m working hard on my degree - why should I prioritize my job over the thing that will determine the rest of my life? 

And yet, every day, I go back. I go back and I work until my feet hurt and I’m sick and I’m tired and all I want to do is just cry. I go back because I, for the life of me, can’t say no. I can’t quit. I want to, but I can’t, and it’s killing me inside that I can’t talk about it the way I want to. In the end, I will always feel like everything is my fault and that I messed up, even though all I did was show up to work and turn into everyone’s punching bag. 

My stupidity is what got me here. Usually, I would be home now, studying, but they asked me to pick up a late shift at the cafè again, and I worked for seven hours with only a fifteen-minute break in between - I look horrible, I smell of coffee and cake, and my body is hurting in all the wrong places. The weight is heavy in my stomach. I’m nauseous. I ate, but not enough. I’m hungry. I feel sick. Even the smallest sounds make me want to jump up the wall, kill someone, or perhaps even both. I’m angry, and I don’t even fucking know why because nothing happened. Other than a rather messy day with too much to do and too few people to do the work, the people weren’t even rude and I’ve had worse days - still, I feel everything at once and it’s ridiculous, really, because I’m an adult and I should know better than to let a rough day affect me. I don’t. 

When he called and asked if I wanted to come over, I said yes. I didn’t want to, but saying no? Not something I would do, especially not to him. I walked into his apartment with a lump already in my stomach. The door creaked - God, I told him to oil it - and that was the first strike. I tossed my key into the bowl and it promptly fell back out. Second strike. My coat slipped from the hanger the second I hung it up. Third strike. I breathed, I had to, then went to the kitchen to make some dinner. Cooking usually works, usually, but the day must have gotten to me because the fourth strike - the fucking milk being expired - happened way too soon and it hit me, hard. After that, I was pretty much done for, and I knew, I just chose to ignore it. 

Of course, I should have known I would screw up everything else, too.

“Hey, sweetheart,” his voice is kind and soft in my ear as he presses a kiss to my cheek. His stubble has never been something to bother me before until that very moment. I flinch away, not sure why. If he realized it - which I’m sure he did - he doesn’t show. 

“Smells good,” he says. 

I put the garlic into the pan. It smells too much like garlic and I hate it. 

“What you making?”

“Pasta,” I tell him. 

He kisses me again. “Mh-hm. How was your day?” the question is stupid, but it’s normal and he always asks. He gets himself a beer - only himself - removes the cap with his mouth and then leans against the counter. 

He shouldn’t infuriate me. He shouldn’t make me angry just by standing there and asking me questions couples ask themselves, but inevitably, he does. And I hate myself all the more for the way my voice sounds when I answer him. 

“Fine,” I say. 

“Fine?” he asks. “How was work?” I feel like he’s getting suspicious. “You only had two lectures today, right? English lit and what was the other one?”

“Linguistics.”

“Ah, yes. Your least favorite.”

Perhaps that’s why I’m angry. 

“You know,” he says and the tangent he goes on after revolves around him and only him, and while I don’t like talking about myself, that doesn’t mean he has to unload all of his stress on me - I don’t know why I think that way and it’s scaring me because I don’t actually feel that way, but at that moment I do and it’s all very confusing.

I just want to lock myself in his bedroom and cry. He looks so good with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. He’s wearing his glasses, still, but his tie is loosened and he smiles because he knows I love that smile. I should love it. I should love the way his muscles tense underneath his shirt or the way his dress pants hang impossibly low on his hips, but for the first time, I don’t. I don’t love anything, I just feel anger, which makes me hate everything, but mostly myself. 

I must have zoned out. Suddenly, he’s calling my name and he’s calling me sweetheart and he’s poking me with his hands - no, he’s stroking my hips, hugging me from behind, and it’s all too much. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I lie. He knows I’m lying. He can hear it in my heartbeat. He can feel it in the way I move away from him to rinse the now-empty pan in the sink. 

How is the food already finished?

“You didn’t listen to a word I just said,” he dares to sound offended. 

“No, I did.”

“Really, what did I say?”

“You and Foggy had a case, didn’t go well, bla bla bla. Same as every day.”

He sets the bottle down. “Alright, sweetheart, what’s wrong? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Oh, so just because I don’t care about hearing the same story repeat itself every day and you whining about it means there’s something wrong with me?”

He’s taken aback. Quite frankly, I’ve never snapped at him before, not like this, not out of nowhere, and we’ve been dating for over a year. With his super senses, there is little that eludes the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, especially when it comes to his girlfriend. I hate that it’s like this. I hate not having any privacy, even when I try to. But I don’t want to be alone, I don’t want privacy. Or, I think. I don’t even know what I want. I know I want to be around him, but at the same time, it hurts because the anger is too damn hot to swallow, and his concern doesn’t make it any better. It should be, but it’s not. I’m a lost cause. 

“I was just telling you about my day,” he says. I would yell back at myself if I were him, but he knows me. He knows yelling doesn’t help. He knows I’d cry, but maybe that’s what I want. Maybe I want him to yell just so I have a valid reason to cry, to be angry. 

I want him to hate me the way I hate myself. 

That’s why I can’t help it anymore. “Maybe I don’t want to hear about your day.”

“What?”

“The world doesn’t revolve around you, Matthew!”

He’s confused. I don’t blame him. The second the words left my mouth, I regret them. They make me sound like the most selfish person on the whole planet. I can’t take them back though. If I did, he’d know something is wrong and then he’d worry, he’d pity me and no, I don’t want that. I want to rile him up. I’m not sure why, but it makes me so angry that he’s so calm and I’m… well, I’m me, but I’m also not me. I’m a stranger in my own body. 

I put the pasta in a bowl. It stinks of alcohol and tomatoes and garlic, too much of it. I wonder how anyone could eat that. 

“Here,” I shove it into his hand, “You’ve been served. I’m gonna take a shower.”

I’m a bad person. I’m pretty sure I am. Who yells at their boyfriend because they can’t deal with their own problems? Who makes the person they love more than life itself feel like shit on purpose for no reason whatsoever? A sane person wouldn’t. We have never been a normal couple, Matthew and I, but we’re trying. Turns out, I suck much more than I thought I would.

It’s not the age gap, I’m sure of it. I’m in my last year as an English Major and he’s a defense attorney. Somehow, we make it work. He loves me, I know he does. He’s afraid of rejection - he thinks everyone he loves will leave him, which is why it took us a while to find together. I should have known my words were going to hurt him unimaginably. He thinks he did something wrong, but it’s not him. It’s never him. He’s damaged, but he’s nothing if not perfect to me, most of the time. 

I’m heavily crying at this point, trying to conceal my sobs, but it’s not working. The water is loud, not loud enough to fool Matt’s hearing, but even if he were to hear it, he knows better than to provoke me any further. He doesn’t know what’s going on and neither do I, so it’s just the two of us silently waiting for the other to come around. He shouldn’t have to feel that way. And so I cry more because God, I do not deserve that man. I don’t deserve his kindness or his love. I don’t. I really, really don’t. 

And once I’m out of the bathroom, I remember why I don’t deserve him. 

The table is set for two. Candles substitute for the harsh ceiling light. He knows it gives me headaches sometimes. He put a bowl out for me and a glass of wine. White wine. The sweet kind. The kind he hates but keeps around in case I ever need a glass. He’s drinking red wine. It’s cheap, but it looks expensive and he likes to feel special from time to time. 

I hug my arms around my body. He has his back turned to me, fixing a salad in the kitchen - I must have forgotten it. The way he moves is almost angelic. He moves as if nothing happened, as if I didn’t just treat him like a bitch. He’s singing my favorite song or humming it, anyway. The room smells of him and me and the food I loathed before, but watching him do all of this for me, even now, is sucking the air out of my lungs and suddenly, I don’t mind the thought of eating with him.

I only want one thing. I don’t want to ask for it and he’s not going to do anything unless I talk. We agreed on that from the beginning, no matter what kind of intimacy it involves. Without consent or a proper conversation, nothing will happen. And I curse myself for not being able to speak without the tears blocking my view again. 

“There’s a sweater on the couch,” he states. He knows I’m cold. “And some fuzzy socks, if you want.”

The clothes smell like him. 

“I put some more salt in the pasta. I think you forgot to salt the water, so I took it upon myself. I hope you don’t mind. Also, I tried to make your favorite salad dressing, but I’m not sure if I managed to get it right this time.”

He smiles and then his glasses are gone and he has an apron on and he looks like he loves me, really loves me, and that’s it. I pull my legs up to my chest, falling deep into the couch and I cry. All the pain just comes exploding out of me like an active volcano. 

The leather dents next to me. “Comfort or solution?” he asks. It’s so casual, I get the feeling he’s not mad at me. 

“I don’t know,” it sounds so broken.

His arm finds around my shoulder. “Is this okay?” I can only nod. Yes.

He moves me gently so I’m in his lap and he can rock me like a baby. It feels good to be loved like this, but it’s also suffocating. Still, I can’t help but fall deeper into his hold because this is, in fact, all I needed. Too stubborn to ask for it, I almost ruined something good. I know I did. He knows, too, but unlike me, he knows the difference between me being mad at him and being mad at the world. He knows I don’t mean what I say unless we’re fighting, and this isn’t it. We’re not fighting. I’m just angry and I want to cry, even while crying, and that makes me cry even more. 

“You want to talk about it?” he asks once I can finally breathe again. 

I blow my nose like a disgusting person and say, “Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe.” And that about sums up all of my life. 

“Is it school?”

I shake my head. If it’s not school, it can only be one other thing. 

“Work?”

I nod. 

“Anything happen or just a bad day?”

“Bad day.”

“That’s why you yelled at me? I didn’t do anything wrong?”

“No,” I say truthfully for the first time. “I’m just angry. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Maybe next time try telling me though. I was actually scared I did something until I heard you cry in the shower.”

I don’t know what’s wrong with me and I tell him that, to which he only chuckles. 

“You know how many times I acted hostile towards you after a long day?” he says. “It happens. It’s okay.”

“I just… I’m so stressed all the time. I hate work and I hate people and I hate not getting paid enough or on time, but I can’t quit because you know, I’m me and they know that, so they take advantage of my inability to say no, and it sucks because I’m so tired of working more than I go to school, but I need the money, and so I can’t leave until I’ve found another job, but no one else wants me, so now I’m here, trying to see the good in this stupid job, but I don’t. I can’t. I hate it. I hate everything and everyone and I hate myself and I think I’ll get my period soon because this should not be upsetting me this much.”

His hand on my back manages to soothe me. 

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

He smiles down at me, all loopy, and his sightless eyes are focused somewhere on my forehead, which makes everything so much better. 

“I love you.”

And yes, I love him too. I love him so fucking much, it hurts. 

“I love you too, Matty.”

As soon as I say his name, he knows what I want. He knows I need to destress. He knows I can’t eat until I can forget. 

“Is there something I can do?” he asks, but damn him, he already knows. 

“Can you…” no, I can’t ask him for that.

“Yes?”

“Matt, can…” No. “You know what, never mind.”

“No, sweetheart. Tell me. What do you need?”

“I just…” my chest heaves a frustrated groan. “IneedyoutoeatmeoutuntilIcantremembermyname.”

He enjoys it. He gets off on it, my desperation. “Sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“I don’t think I did. Can you repeat that?”

“God.” My face is burning. 

“I’m sorry, it’s just, this is the first time you actually asked me and I love hearing you ask for the things you want. It’s sexy.” 

Somehow, that’s even worse. My thighs clench like I’m some pathetic little schoolgirl with a crush on her teacher. 

“You know, maybe you can ask for a raise tomorrow, or quit altogether,” he says. “But for that to work, you have to tell me what you want right now.”

“I asked you to eat me out until I can’t remember my fucking name!”

“Thank you. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

If there is one thing Matt Murdock is incredibly skilled with, it’s his mouth. And I don’t just mean the words that come out. Essentially, it’s all in his tongue. He’s managed to render me speechless on more than one occasion, and he knows. He knows I love when he touches me, but there are times when it has to be about me, and only me, and he’d gladly suffocate between my thighs. He’s told me that time and time again.

He keeps telling me to ask him if I want something. I never do. I hate asking for it because it’s embarrassing. It’s good that he knows what he’s doing, that bastard because if he didn’t, I wouldn’t be cumming and I wouldn’t tell him. Somehow he always gets the job done, no matter how stressed I am. 

That’s why I need it so badly. I need him to take care of me, no matter how long it takes. I know it might take a while because I’m tense and he knows too. He reads my body like an open book. That’s how he knows I’m horny before I even do. 

He doesn’t move for another minute. He just stares at me. “You want me to take care of you?” he asks.

“Please,” I beg. 

“Guess I’ll have dessert before dinner today then.”

He lifts my head and then he’s suddenly on top of me. He’s sliding me up the couch so he can fit in between my legs. I’m dressed in shorts, a t-shirt, and his sweater and for a second I wonder if it’s even worth it. I’m ovulating, I’m bloated. I feel like shit. My hormones are all messed up. I can feel the weight of my boobs tear on my back and I’m pretty sure the hairs on my legs prickle his cheek as he kisses them. It’s making me want to take back everything I asked of him. 

My confidence has taken a low blow this past week. 

Though Matt doesn’t care, he never does. He digs his nose between my thighs and takes the longest whiff I’ve seen him take in a while. To be fair, the last time we saw each other, he was busy with work. We didn’t have time for intimacy, which hardly ever happens. He moans. 

Smug bastard.

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells me. It melts my heart. The compliment means so much more knowing he can’t physically see me. To him, I’m beautiful. He couldn’t care less about what I looked like. Although sometimes I wonder what picture he has made up of me in his mind. 

His lips are on mine fast. I can’t help but sigh. They’re so soft. He doesn’t rush, he just kisses me and then kisses me some more. I tangle my hands in his hair. I’m sure, this is what heaven must be like.

“Let’s take this off.” His sweater joins my shorts on the floor. “May I?” He hooks his fingers underneath the waistband of my panties. “Or do you want me to keep them on?”

I have no doubt he could do it with five layers in between and still make me cum.

“Off,” I say. I want this. I have to remind myself that my insecurities mean nothing – he loves me. He wants to do this for me. He wants to do this because he likes it, or else he would say it. 

Matt is vocal, but I’m not. If he doesn’t want to do something, he’ll say. Can’t say the same about me, which is why he asks repeatedly, even after I already told him it’s okay. He wants to make sure I’m on board, that I don’t feel pressured and can pull out any time I want, but I don’t, because the second the cold air hits my bare cunt, all I want is him. 

I can feel his eyes searching for me. “Hey,” he says my name. “We’re not playing this time, okay? You can cum when you need to and how many times you want to. You just have to lay back and relax. I’ll take care of you.” 

He intertwines our fingers on either side of my spread thighs before he dives into me. It’s slow and steady. He doesn’t care about fucking me with his tongue like he usually does. He licks and bites, but mostly, his tongue and lips stay around my clit and they suck. They suck so good, I see stars behind my eyes. His touch sends shocks down my spine. My sensitive walls clench around thin air, but his head is so far between my thighs, I still manage to feel full. 

But no matter how hard I try, I can’t focus. It feels so good, way too good, and on any other day, I would’ve come by now. His beard burns into the inside of my thigh as I rock against him. I try to, but it’s exhausting. I can feel the coil in my lower belly clear as day, and yet it’s too far out of reach. I need it, I crave it. 

I can hear myself saying, “This could take a while.” And he laughs because he finds it funny. It’s not funny though, it’s serious. I hate the fact that he makes me feel so good and I can’t find it in myself to enjoy. 

“Close your eyes,” his breath fans hot against my folds. “And just stop thinking.” 

He makes it his mission to ruin me. I close my eyes and as soon as I do, he’s on me. It’s not just his mouth. One of our joined hands reaches up to touch my breast – he twists my nipple through the shirt until it’s hard and has his attention. The other reaches behind me and lifts my hips. The next thing I know, he has me propped up on a pillow. The muscles in my lower back relax. I sigh. It’s so good. 

He’s given up on slow and steady. His head moves in circles as he abuses – I don’t have another word for it – my clit and eats the rest of me like a man starved. I realize I need it fast and I need it hard. He knows it before I do. His tongue expertly parts my wet folds, a mix of arousal and spit trickling down my thighs, but I could care less. He’s inside of me and then his thumb is there and it’s rubbing and rubbing and rubbing and I’m so fucking close, the knot in my stomach feels like it weighs a hundred pounds, and it’s applying sweet, sweet pressure on cunt. 

“Fuck!” I throw my head back into the leather. My back arches impossibly high, and his head squished tightly between my thighs. I need him closer. His hair is so soft, it makes me want to cry, and I do. I cry, but not in a sad way. I cry out because yes, God yes! and then I’m cumming, suddenly and without warning, hard, all over his face, and it doesn’t stop. He doesn’t stop.

The growl is animalistic. It vibrates perfectly through my pussy and I can’t help it – it barely takes two minutes until his lips start hurting so good as they keep sucking my clit, a series of ‘one more’ leaves his lips in a plea, and I’m rocking against him hard. I’m begging him, “Matt,” but I’m not sure what for. 

“C’mon,” he says, “you can give me one more.”

He’s right. God, I hate when he’s right. My toes curl and I push his face so deep into me, I’m convinced he’s running out of air, but that’s what makes him moan and it sends me over the edge.

I’m pretty sure I passed out. The pleasure is so intense, my stomach feels like it’s being torn apart and then put back together. The world is dark and for the first time today, quiet. 

Something nudges my cheek softly. It’s his hand. Matt kisses me and I can taste myself on his lips. “Hey,” he coaxes me back into lucidity. “There you are. Are you okay?”

I nod.

“You need anything?”

It’s a reflex, reaching for him. He gasps slightly when my hand touches between his thighs, expecting to find a visible bulge, but there is none. I’m not sure if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but there is a visible wet spot where his dick is supposed to be. 

“Did you-“ I finally open my eyes. He looks so drunk in the candlelight. I realize then that he is drunk on me. 

He buries his head in my neck. “You’re not the only one who’s been worked up all week,” he says. 

“You just- oh, my God.” I never thought it possible that it could be enough for him. “Thank you.” 

“No, thank you. You’re always so good to me. Good girl. But I think-“ his finger steals my breath as it circles my entrance and promptly slips it inside of me. “You can cum for me again.” 

I arch into him. My chest brushes against his. Our shirts suddenly feel like too much clothing and I’m desperate, so I tear at the buttons until they come apart. He has his arm back underneath me, holding me flush against him as if he’s afraid I might slip away. 

A wanton moan escapes me. “That’s it,” and his praise is even better. “Think you can take another one?”

He adds a second finger. It burns but only because even after a year, I’m still struggling to take any part of him. His fingers are thick and they’re rough and they’re scratching my inside walls just right. They massage the flesh. He’s pumping his fingers in and out and in and out, and he adds his thumb back on my clit because he knows I won’t be able to cum without it.

All of the stress falls off my shoulders. I feel him everywhere, his kisses, his touch, his hard nipples against mine. He’s hard again, poking against my thigh. I reach for him and he whines, he whines into my mouth. I’m not sure which one of us will come first. I suppose it’s me, it’s always me. He makes sure it will be me.

He hits as deep as he possibly could. His fingers curl inside of me and then, “There it is!” Is so victorious, it makes my eyes roll back. He keeps hitting that particular spot over and over again. My hand clutches his shoulder. I want to scream, but all that comes out is a series of whined and pathetic moans. I can’t help it, my muscles contract around him. 

“Damn, you’re gonna break my fingers,” he says. His chuckle is breathless. “You close?”

I hum.

“Do me a favor,” and I expect him to tell me anything but what he requests, “Don’t cum.” 

It’s rude. It’s cruel and it’s vile and I want to murder him because just as he says it, the coil tightens impossibly tight and I need to let go. It’s painful to hold it in, especially now. But I do as he tells me nonetheless. I want to please him. 

“Matt,” I moan. He’s so unfair and he knows it.

He smirks. “Just hold on a little longer.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes, you can. I know you can.”

“St- oh, fuck!” He hits my sweet spot with twice the intensity. I almost cum, but only almost. I keep it together, no matter how much it hurts, and it’s making tears prick at my eyes. “Please, just let me cum,” I hate begging him. “Please, Matty.”

“Shhh. We’re almost there.”

His thumb speeds up. I can see heaven. God is reaching his hand out for me. My stomach is in a tight knot, so tight, the silk might rip any second. The pressure is unreal. My muscles have been trained by him, I admit, but nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing can prepare you for the times when Matt has his mind set on something and he’s going to take it. He’s going to take you. 

I can’t think. It’s too much. I know I’m going to disappoint him. The animal inside of me is beyond satisfied and she wants out. She wants to let go. She loves the feeling of his fingers buried to the hilt inside of her. She loves him, and loving him tends to turn into sweet, sweet torture.

I moan his name again. His cock twitches underneath his dress pants, hot against my fingertips. 

“Almost,” he promises. “I just want to try something.”

What could he possibly want to-

“Cum.”

I’m flying. My back lifts off the couch and if it wasn’t for him, I would be dead by now. My body is shaking. It’s earth-shattering and it’s wet and it’s everywhere. I can feel the orgasm tearing me apart from the inside, blood rushing in my ears. My senses go black. I can’t see, feel or breathe. Everything is too much. It’s burning, it’s heavy, but it’s amazing.

His fingers don’t stop until he has milked the last drop of me until even the last ounce of stress has left my body and I’m limp. I’m a corpse. I’m barely breathing, a wet sack of potatoes in his arms. 

God, the look on his face. He’s cumming too. The wet patch on his pants has doubled. It’s not from me, although I’m suddenly very aware of the fact of what he just made me do.

“Oh.”

“Fuck,” he growls. “That was amazing.”

I never expected to have it in myself. “Oh, Jesus.” My words are highly blasphemous but I don’t care. I’m not even sure how to feel. The blush creeps up my cheeks and I close my legs a little. Everything is so wet. It’s all me and some of him, but mostly me. Just spurts of cum all over his hand and his couch.

He clicks his tongue, shoving my thighs apart. “Don’t go shy on me now,” he says.

“No, it’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing? Sweetheart, I’ve never felt more proud of myself.”

“I just- your couch. Oh, God.”

“I’m pretty sure the couch will survive it. Leather is easier to clean. How do you feel?”

I sigh, snuggling against his chest. “Better,” I have to admit. “Much, much better.”

“Good.” He kisses my neck. “Can I have my fingers back now?”

“No.” I like the feeling of him inside of me, even if it’s just his fingers. It makes me feel complete, almost. 

“Okay.” 

“Just gonna rest my eyes now.”

“You do that, sweetie. I’ll be here.” 

And he is. He always is. I wake up, and he’s there, and he always will be because he promised me this is forever. Us. Me and him. And I realize then that I’ve never been more in love with another person than I am in love with Matt Murdock.

[hazelfoureyes]

i have a bit of a fun ask :) can u put ur spotify on shuffle and write a fic with vox based on the first song that plays? plz plz HAZEL PLZ

Please please please know I am still getting my sea legs with Vox! So don’t go into this expecting my usual… uhhh skill? Confidence? also testing the new tag list system

「Warnings/Promises: Val exists, Vox x Fem Reader, stalking, pastry decimation, casual sexism」

Stalker’s Tango

From the moment you stepped out of your home, he was eagerly watching.

The security doorbell camera on your porch let him see you wore black pants and a white blouse. Perfect. A white pocket square in his suit jacket pocket to complement. “Wonderful choice as always, babe.” He spoke softly to the screen; to you.

He followed every move, jumping with muscle memory speed from traffic camera to home security camera to shopwindow full of screens.

When you stopped to go into a bakery, he was there in the cctv cameras, fisheye view of your order of cold brew coffee and a croissant. “Impeccable taste.” A confident laugh between you two as he shot off a text to craft services, two words, ‘Croissants. Now.’

“Could you possibly warm that?” You asked the young man behind the counter.

Another text. ‘Heated.’

He watched you at the bus stop. A man sat beside you and smiled at you. You offered a kind smile back. “Who the fuck is that?” He zoomed in, taking a screenshot to send to Velvette, ‘Find socials for this pissant.’

When you stepped onto the bus he sighed, relief the man was no longer bothering you but also with a heart heavy. You didn’t belong on the bus. Why couldn’t he just buy you a car? No, better, He should send a driver to pick you up daily. A personal chauffeur. You shouldn’t have to bother yourself with driving.

No, he was thinking too small. You should live in the tower. Angel Dust used to, why couldn’t you? A moment of fantasy.

Perhaps he’d walk in to find you in your pajamas. What ever could they be? He searched your online shopping history and couldn’t find a single purchase for sleep wear. Your lack of home television and a computer limited him to only watching you from your stoop and beyond. He buckled, what if you didn’t wear anything to bed? Why didn’t you let him see you at night? What did he need to do for you to trust him in your home.

A knock at the door he didn’t acknowledge. His sole focus was you. A book? You minx. Always playing hard to get. He knew you got the e-reader he sent. He watched you take the package from the doorbell camera, after all.

“Sir,” a small and slightly pathetic voice spoken through the door, “I’m getting word from downstairs they’re not sure how to keep croissants warm in the studio.”

Another zoom, what were you reading? He’d have the author on Vox programming, sure to take photos like old chums for you to see on your bus stop bench ads.

Vox rose slowly from his chair, eyes on you as he backed away from his desk.

A change in routine. You cut through Jekyll Park. No cameras.

Vox hurried to the door, huffing as he flung it open, “Have you never heard of a warming lamp?”

“They don’t have any… normally they only offer cold items.”

“Fine then have,” he pointed at a random employee walking by, “that fucker stand there with a toaster oven”

The eel demon shrunk, “Well he works for us not for-.”

The screen that comprised his head filled with static, eyes a swirling rage of red and black, “He works for the Vees. He goes where we tell him.”

He slammed the door, taking a moment to recompose himself before turning to face you. He didn’t want you to see him like that.

Spinning back, charming smile cocked on his face, “Alright where are you?” He strolled up to the displays and returned to his seat, scanning around until he found you again. But he wasn’t finding you. He couldn’t do anything about the park’s lack of cameras, it was pentagram city property, or else he’d have staff in there within the hour. Normally not an issue though, you never cut through that way.

Sixty seconds. Where were you?

Ninety seconds. Where were you.

One hundred and eighty seconds. Where were you!

Vox’s chair fell over as he stood with a panic, hitting the speed dial for Security. As the phone was answered and he began to instruct them to the west entrance of the park, you emerged from the tree lined path and tossed your empty coffee cup and food bag into the recycling bins. You’d just slowed your walk to enjoy your breakfast with a pretty view.

“Nevermind, false alarm fellas.” A nervous chuckle as he pulled at his collar. “Sir we’re not all me-.”

He hung up and leaned on the control panel. He should have sent a text. In fact maybe he still should.

Good Morning sinners! Reminder—- you’re only safe when you’re under the watchful eye of VoxTek Security Cameras.

A mass push text to every VoxTek phone in pentagram city. He watched you look at your phone and then up to the camera pointed directly at you from a light pole. A satisfied hum, “Good girl.”

As his view switched to the VeeTower camera system he danced into the elevator.

Vox’s foot impatiently tapped, staring directly into the eyes of the VoxTek employee holding the toaster oven in his hands. The fishy looking demon was squirming as the heat bled into the metal casing and burned his palms.

“Oh! I didn’t know I paid you to arrive late!” Val’s voice carried across the set.

You gripped the handles of your tote bag, “Val I’m sorry! The bus got a flat tire and I had to walk.”

A hiss as Val leaned down to get eye level with you, “Sluts lie as easily as they open their legs.”

“No, Val.” Vox interjected, tone stronger than he had intended, “She’s telling the truth. It was on the local traffic report. Cut her some slack.”

“I don’t watch that shit.” A sigh, exhaling pink aphrodisiac laced smoke into the air between you three, “Fine. If amorcito says so.” Val smiled to Vox before sending a sneer back to you, “Now fuck off to the dressing room.”

He walked away to shout at someone else, so you took the opportunity to say, “Thank you.” You offered a little head bow, grateful for back-up in your lie. Vox had already been trying to sneak off the set when you started speaking to him, causing him to sheepishly spin around on his heels. “I don’t think we’ve met before, but I see you all over the place. You’re Vox, right?” You extended a hand.

His screen flickered, blue background now with a gradient pink starting from the bottom, a blush rising up his face, “I see my reputation precedes me.” A false bravado as he gestured to himself. He moved the croissant to his right hand so he could shake yours.

“Well… your name and face is on everything. So, yes! I guess so.” You shook his hand, “Oh, I had a croissant too.”

He beamed, “Ya know what they say, great minds and all that. I was just having a little breakfast after reading. I hear they have some on set today in craft services.” You perked up, looking to the food table and the man holding the toaster oven.

“My lucky day! If only they had iced coffee. It would be perfect.” With a polite smile you took a step away, “I gotta go or Val will kill me. Nice to meet you!”

Vox stood still until you were out of sight. His hand crushed the pastry before he launched it across the room, mumbling about coffee before looking back longingly in the direction you’d left in, “See ya later babe.”

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  , @fizzled-phoenix ,  @phobophobular  , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo    , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl 

[gentrychild]

O great Owl and thou noble fic-finding rats I come because I have failed to find that which I need.

There is a work, apart of your Anyone universe, where Izuku is writing a Quirk Analysis Paper and he wakes AfO up so he can see a mutation quirk which enlarges AfO's arm. I have combed through all of Anyone and then through your side works that take place in this universe. But I found nothing.

The only thing I can think is that it was a tumblr post or a fanfic one of your blog mates wrote for you. But alas, I am still here.

In exchange I swear that if my firstborn ever starts stealing quirks I will buy all the therapists, and if that fails I will leave him to your fic-finders with no rivers in sight. And they may nibble on him for all of forever.

With reverence and sincerity, -me

I have some bad news and good news for you. The bad news is that his is something I wrote and posted on Tumblr, and you will never find it again even if you scroll through the entire Anyone tag. The good news is that you must be especially lucky as I found it by pure luck in a file I had forgotten.

----------

Izuku, sitting on his bed, books and notebooks opened on all of its surface, clicked his pen. Once, twice, thrice, the sound echoing in the silent apartment without doing anything to bring the answer the teenager desperately needed.

Usually, deadlines weren’t a problem for him. For some obscure reasons, the teachers in his high school were trusting him no matter what he did and forging his mom’s signatures to excuse his many absences had become the routine. However, he needed to finish this paper for tomorrow morning, so Hebisuga could read it and save her grade in Meta Analysis. That way, she would stop worrying so much about this subject, focus back on her Japanese, and write once again her ridiculously good flash cards that she always accepted to share with Yuuto and him.

But right now… Izuku’s brain just wasn’t cooperating.

He got up, his back protesting as he stopped hunching over for the first time in a couple of hours, and he left his bedroom. His notebook in hand, he walked past the bathroom and knocked at the door of the master bedroom, currently invaded by the bane of his existence while his blissfully ignorant mother was away.

The door opened in the second, All for One appearing in front of him, his hair messy and his face showing the trace of the pillow but no sign of sleepiness. The villain was one of those persons who immediately passed from sleep to alertness while Izuku needed three cups of coffee to be semi-conscious.

“What is it?” the villain asked. “Did you-“

“Show me your mutation quirks, please. Preferably the one that can offer some kind of protection.”

“What makes you think that-“                                                                       

Izuku clicked his pen once again and just stared at the quirk-stealing-fiend.

All for One finally obliged, making his arm grow in size, muscles growing until it had gruesomely swollen up, and he even added some spear-like bones. Bewildered, he answered every questions Izuku had about the drawbacks, the weight, how much he could still move his arm, and so on.

Because if analyzing quirks was his passion and could become a job, words in a book didn’t mean anything to Izuku. He needed to ask questions, to make theories, to see them in action.

Once he was done and had all the elements he needed, he thanked All for One and walked back to his room without offering any explanation. But of course, his roommate didn’t need one.

“Did you just use me to finish your homework? At three AM?”

[thewritergremlin-rae]

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall - Who's the Most Alien of Them All?

Pairing: Loki x Reader Characters: Loki, Thor, Brock Rumlow, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Frigga, Heimdall Rating: T Words: 3229 Content: 2nd person, kidnapping, chloroform, manipulation, soulmate AU, Hydra!SHIELD at work, set during/post Avengers 1 Summary: You'd never thought there was anything strange about your soulmate in the mirror, apart from how handsome he was, but as fate would have it - he's trying to invade New York. Ao3: HERE Notes: I am an absolute sucker for Soulmate AUs so here we are! I'm thinking of using this same AU for some others (Bucky and Steve) but I'm not sure if it'll be in same universe

In this AU, you see your soulmates face as your own reflection~ THIS IS A REPOST OF MY OWN WORK I accidentally deleted the original post so the read more doesn't work on my own blog 😭

Banners by cafekitsune

Something considered normal would rarely be considered wrong. 

So, registering your soulmate’s image via looking in a mirror at 18 and having a photo snapped had never worried you.

Everyone did it.

It was normal.

It was safe. 

It was how most people found their soulmates, and even then some just didn’t.

This early spring day started as every day usually did. You got up and ready for work, took public transport to the office, and logged in at 9 a.m. 

Lunch came and went, spent with the coworkers you got along with best, all venting about the small annoyances of the morning. You all returned to the office and the afternoon crawled by.

Last minute, your boss asked you to finish a report now rather than tomorrow morning and you waved goodbye to your co-workers with a shrug and a put-upon smile. They’d all been in your position at one time or another. No-one found it strange.

The report dragged on for a few hours and you had no idea why it couldn’t wait until tomorrow, but your boss was hardly known for his patience. He at least had the decency to stay behind too. 

You sighed and printed a quick copy before knocking on the door to your boss’s office. 

He called out and told you to come in, taking the report when you handed it over. His eyes barely scanned it before he spoke again; “Hey, I know it’s late, but we have a visitor in the conference room. Go keep them company, will you? It will just take a couple of minutes.” 

You bit back the sigh and the roll of your eyes, knowing both could lose you your job. Stupid, tight ass boss. “No problem, boss,” were the words that came out of your mouth, a false smile before you turned and left - heading to the conference room.

You took the liberty of rolling your eyes hard before you plastered the smile back on and pushed the door open. “Hello.” You stepped into the room and held out your hand as you gave your name. “Mr. Dickson is sorry to keep you waiting, but how can I help you?” 

Not the normal sort of client, if a client he was. Most clients showed up in suits or some sort of business attire, but this man wore a black T-shirt, combats, and a jacket certainly not of the suit kind. 

“Brock Rumlow.” He smirked over at you and you saw the way his eyes gave you a once over. Slowly. Urgh. Double ugh when he continued with; “No problem at all, sweetheart. Don’t suppose you could get me a coffee?”  He nodded over to the machine as he eased back into his seat. 

“Of course, sir,” you answered with a smile.

“Feel free to grab yourself one, too. Your boss sent you in here to keep me company, huh?” 

“Something like that, Mr. Rumlow.” The pot only needed warming before you poured two cups and offered him one, taking a seat opposite the man.

“I hope he doesn’t make you stay this late all the time, I hate it when my boss makes me work overtime.” He snorted and rolled his eyes as he took a sip of his coffee. “Do this, do that, clean up some mess, collect an alien’s soulmate, kill that politician, clean up more mess. Not a day’s rest I tell ya.” 

You nodded politely, staring down at your cup as you fully processed his words. Aliens, soulmates… killing politicians? You didn’t know which was the most out there. “I-’m sorry I’m not sure I follow…” 

He only looked more delighted at your confusion and the way your body had stiffened. “Well, you see, sweetheart, there’s this guy, Loki, who showed up outta nowhere and, see, he talks a big game about taking over the Earth and we figured, seeing as you’re his soulmate, that he might rethink those big ideas if we offer you up instead.” Brock shrugged as if this was just casual conversation and didn’t have you frozen in your seat. “’Course, if that doesn’t work, maybe threatening to harm ya will change his tune. But what do I know about aliens? I’m just part of the STRIKE team.” 

Brock smiled, as though he hadn’t just threatened you or spouted what sounded like absolute bullshit. A beat passed as you stared into the cup in your hands, eyes unseeing. “So why don’t we-” 

He growled angrily as you threw the coffee and the cup containing it at him and jolted to your feet, running for the door, pulling it open-

Your short-lived escape attempt ended when another similarly dressed and built man stepped into view. His hands clamped down on your arms and the panic really set in as you protested and tried to escape. “Let me go!” You kicked and thrashed, hoping the noise might cause your boss to call the cops, but that small slice of hope was soon ripped from you. He appeared from his office, face like thunder. 

“You said this would be quick, hurry up before someone hears this racket.” 

Brock huffed from behind you, fingers sliding into your hair and tugging hard to drag your head back. “We coulda done this the nice way, bitch, but that’s off the table.” He pressed a cloth to your mouth, harder than necessary.

The thought of not breathing hadn’t even crossed your mind before the fumes entered your body and you soon slumped into unconsciousness.

You woke already knowing you weren’t at home. Everything felt off and you hadn’t even opened your eyes yet as you laid on what felt like a bed. You took a shallow breath, trying to remember, but everything before falling asleep stayed fuzzy at the edges. 

You had been to work and… right, your boss had made you stay late and there had been coffee and…

Your eyes snapped open but so far it seemed like you were alone. The edge of the bed wasn’t far from the wall and you hesitated before rolling over. Good. No-one there either and this side of the wall had windows.

You shuffled over to them, eyebrows furrowing at their size. Small and curved at the edges. you slid the blind up to be met with the sight of clouds and uninterrupted sky. 

You scrambled to the edge of the bed and the one door that led in and out of the room. “Hey! Hey!” you yelled, banging on the door, fear skittering through you. How long ago had last night been? What time was it now? Where were you now?

“Quit ya banging!” A stern thump that made the door rattle had you stumbling back and falling down to sit on the edge of the bed. “We’re nearly there, no need to get your panties in a twist, bitch.” It sounded like the man you’d met in the office… Brock if you remembered correctly.

He’d certainly changed his tune, but you had thrown coffee at him. Bastard deserved it. 

“Where are we going?!” You had no idea if he would answer, if anyone would. Did it even really matter?

You were to be offered up as some consolation prize to an alien invader in the hopes he might go away. 

You weren’t convinced of the plan; who would change their plans for the mere idea and appearance of their soulmate. You probably wouldn’t if you were in Loki’s position. 

“New York,” came the answer before you heard footsteps leave the door. 

You sank to the bed and flopped back on it, unsure what to do with yourself or for the rest of the flight.

You sat in what had to be some kind of interrogation room, a bit rich considering these guys had kidnapped you. A window made up much of the wall in front of you; the blank expanse of glass left you with nothing to look at but the reflection of your soulmate. It hadn’t changed for several years, but you’d noticed recently his hair had grown longer and it didn’t seem as well kept as before.

The sharp lines of his face had always left you flustered, but now they left you worried at the gaunt paleness that clung to him. What had happened? You couldn’t possibly know, you didn’t even know his name. Well, you hadn’t.

Loki. An alien. An invader. 

You continued to sit silently in the chair, not knowing that an agent and your soulmate’s brother were busy deciding your fate.

“Father will not be pleased. Midgardians are not welcome to our realm and Loki is likely to remain in prison the remainder of her short life.” Thor spoke calmly but firmly. “Besides which, you tell me she is dangerous? A criminal? Why should Asgard take a criminal of Midgard to the golden realm? I do not think our prison is the best place to introduce them.” Thor couldn’t be certain, but he doubted the two would get along from what SHIELD had told him. 

His brother would likely perceive another criminal as a threat or he would keep his guard up. Loki was not one for letting people in so easily. Especially not now. Whether she deserved kindness or not, he doubted Loki would afford her any.

“What if your brother wants to bring her?” 

Thor’s eyes narrowed, giving the agent a sidelong glance. Hardly normal to accept a prisoner’s request… but he did love his brother fiercely - despite his recent tricks. “If,” Thor stressed, “Loki wants to bring her… I may agree,” Thor conceded. But he doubted such a thing would happen. “I will speak with him.” 

Neither you or Thor knew the thin thread by which your fate hung.

The car rumbled through central park, you seated in the back wearing handcuffs and some gag like thing over your mouth that stopped you speaking. You still wore the bright orange scrubs and white shirt as though they’d plucked you from a prison somewhere.

You were free of Rumlow at least, you didn’t even know if the agent driving knew that you hadn’t been picked up from a penitentiary. This new one aligned more with what you imagined an ‘agent’ to be. Black suit, white shirt, sunglasses. Very Men In Black, which, ironic, since you were about to meet two aliens. 

The car came to a stop and you looked out at the people milling around. You only recognised two for sure - one of them being your soulmate. Tony Stark confused you, for a moment, before you recalled his shift into heroism the last few years. 

An equally tall, blond man held your soulmate's arm just above his elbow, so you had to assume this was the brother you’d heard murmurs about. 

Your car door opened and a hand grabbed similarly below your elbow to help you out. Curious eyes turned on you and all you could do was silently, desperately, plead for someone to step in. Someone to take the gag off. You just needed one of them to be curious. 

“Er… I don’t remember any plus ones going out to this little party.” Tony Stark gave the agent at your side a look over the top of his sunglasses, his gaze briefly sliding to you. 

“She’s Loki’s soulmate,” the agent replied, no judgement but not much other emotion in his voice. He turned and marched you towards the pair of aliens. 

“Now, hang on a minute.” A different voice objecting this time and you craned your head behind you to see a blond dressed in a check shirt and a brown jacket. You thought you might have seen his face somewhere before, but you weren’t exactly firing on all cylinders and you couldn’t place him. “She might be a criminal of some kind, but you’re going to send her to another planet?” 

“I’m sorry, Captain, but it seems she may be more dangerous than a Midgardian prison could handle,” Thor answered. “My brother told me he has made many a visit to her on Earth.” Fucking news to you! Your eyes flicked to Loki, brows furrowed, but he didn’t meet your gaze. “I do not think he could have taught her many of the tricks he uses, but SHIELD assures me that they have indeed met before.” 

Now you understood the reason for the gag. Can’t contradict made up bullshit if you can’t speak. You were about to turn a furious gaze on the agent that brought you out of the car when the soft clinking of a chain drew your attention.

Loki curled a chained arm around your waist, grip firm, and tugged your back flush against him. The action forestalled anything you had been about to do or say and you attempted to catch his eye. He ducked his head and you felt the cool press of his own gag to the top of your head. 

The gesture had you stilling in surprise and seemed to only cement the story that Thor had been spun.

You felt eyes on the two of you, studying intently, before Loki’s little stunt seemed to be accepted as proof and preparations began again. You assumed for travel to this Asgard, but how exactly? There weren’t any space ships nearby and you were fairly certain the car you’d arrived in wasn’t about to escape Earth’s atmosphere.

Something with Loki here?

Thor reappeared in your line of sight holding one of two handles of some canister. A blue cube glowed inside, but it didn’t make any more sense than it had a few minutes ago. He caught your eye, his look intense and serious. “Make sure you do not let go or you will be lost to space as Loki was before he came here.” 

You felt like meaning lay beneath the words, something you were supposed to glean from them, but still struggling to process what had happened the last few days you simply nodded and took hold of the other handle. Loki’s hand settled beside yours, overlapping slightly. Unsure if this stemmed from kindness, or an attempt to be sure you didn’t let go. or something else to drag you further into the fiction and lies that had been created around you... Well, you had no way to protest, anyway.

You hoped nobody would spend too long looking for you. Maybe the local police had already told everyone you were dead, covering up the act that you still couldn’t quite understand. 

You wondered if you would ever see Earth again after this.

Your hand unknowingly reached for Loki’s at your waist, gripping tightly in fear of what was to come and in sorrow that you didn’t know what mess you were leaving behind. 

Silence as Thor turned the handle, anticlimactic, but you felt it as your stomach dropped similarly to when an elevator descends too quickly and you were pulled upwards. The blur of colours was almost too much for your eyes to bear as your vision blurred, but soon enough your feet settled on solid ground once more. 

You desperately blinked back the blurring at the edges of your vision to take in the bright gold that lined the room you had landed in. Or maybe an observatory of some kind.

“Welcome home,” a deep but firm voice greeted, your eyes drawn to a man in gold armour whose eyes glowed just as brightly as the metal. He sheathed the sword into the metal stand in front of him and approached the three of you.

You thought you could see something sad in his gaze as he touched the metal on your face, drawing it easily away from you and returning your ability to speak. “I am sorry you were dragged into this mess, miss.” 

“How did you…?” 

“My name is Heimdall and my duty is to watch over the Nine Realms. While I cannot see all at once, and some have managed to evade my sight in the past,” At this he gave Loki a look before returning his gaze to you - eyes softening once more, “I have kept an eye on your journey these past few days.” 

“Heimdall, of what do you speak?” Thor asked in utter confusion. 

But you found the words and breath to speak first. “They lied to you, I’m not an inmate! I’ve never even gotten a parking ticket!” you protested, courage mounting with every word you got out. “I was just doing my job like always and a couple of thugs came to the office and kidnapped me.” A squeeze at your waist reminded you of Loki’s presence and you pulled out of his grip, turning your annoyance on him. “And we have never met! I’ve only ever seen his reflection.” 

“Loki-” Thor growled at his brother, but received only a simple shrug and a look that lacked all remorse in reply. “Why did you-?”

Warm hands took your wrists and distracted you, your gaze drawn by watching Heimdall break the cuffs on your wrists as easily as if they were made of paper. “My apologies, miss. I had no way of letting anyone on Earth know of the misconception.” He didn’t smile, per se, but he seemed genuine and his greeting kind. 

He took a step back and you breathed with relief to finally be free of all your chains. “At least someone knows what’s going on.” Though Loki had to have known too, so why had he lied to Thor and SHIELD? “How exactly am I supposed to get home?” you asked, looking between the two brothers as if scolding children. 

“Heimdall is to use the Tesseract to restore the Bifrost and once it’s fixed, he will be able to send you home. If I can, I will return with you and explain the situation to the Avengers - they’ll be sure to help,” Thor rushed to assure you.

To be fair, they had tried, but Thor had been so convinced by SHIELD… Well, he just seemed to have gotten all mixed up in all of this so you nodded. “So, I’ll just have to wait until the bridge is fixed?” 

Thor smiled brightly this time, like the sun bursting through on a cloudy day. “Yes, just until it is fixed. I’m sure Mother will be happy to provide hospitality.” 

“I see my son is already volunteering me.” Her voice sounded light and happy despite the situation, drifting over from some as yet unseen doorway off to the side. 

“Your Majesty.” Heimdall bowed to her and you quickly followed suit - you didn’t want to end up in the dungeons for however long it would take to fix the Bifrost. 

You straightened up to find her gentle smile turned your way, her beauty and motherly face stealing your breath. “I’m glad to finally meet you, though you are such a familiar sight that I feel as though I know you already.” Her arm settled softly around your shoulders and she started to steer you along the beautiful bridge you stood on. 

Loki huffed behind you and you wondered if he might be embarrassed? No, probably not.

“I’m sorry you were brought here under such circumstances, but welcome to Asgard.” Weird space travel and spy stories coming to life aside, maybe spending some time in the golden city laid out before you wouldn’t be so bad. 

Want to be tagged in future parts or future Loki fic? Go here

[idkwhatimdoinghere1655]

What Was I Made For? - Charles Leclerc

<word count - 1251>

Another day: done. Another day that had felt like it had been wasted doing your ever so boring job while you watched pedestrians walk in and out, smiling as their carefree hours whizzed by. 

You served coffee after coffee, frappe after frappe, and each one took you an inch closer to insanity. As soon as the clock struck five, you threw your apron into your locker and traded it for your jacket. 

Just as you were about to slip out of the employees only back exit, you heard your boss collaring your name. You were just going to pretend you couldn't hear and leave anyway, but there was no ignoring her when she tapped you on the shoulder.

"Y/N, I'm going to need you to put in a few extra hours next week since we're pretty short on staff and we've been really busy lately," she smiled, and the urge to punch her in the face had never been stronger. The last thing you wanted was to put in more hours of your life doing the least rewarding job you had ever had. 

"Do I get paid any extra or anything?" you asked. You only did the job for the money, since you liked to have some independence from Charles. As expected, he had offered to support your life since he made more than enough, but you wanted to do something with your life. But this wasn't it.

"Sorry honey, the best I can do is more coffee coupons," she chirped, and you wondered how she was always so cheerful and happy. It was almost envious. Well, it would be if it wasn't so damn infuriating and irritating. 

"Just send me through the hours," you tutted, not wasting anymore time in that god forsaken coffee shop than you had to. Walking back home, you couldn't help but frown at all of the people around you, enjoying what they did for a living. 

They were all making names for themselves, leading fulfilling lives and living their dreams. And then there was you, serving coffees just finding a way to spend time. 

What were you doing with your life? Who were you supposed to be? Why did you have to live through groundhog day every day?

As per usual, you walked past the art gallery, boasting creativity and colour, and the jewellery stores with glittering pieces that you wished you had made. Just so someone would recognize something you had done. 

Finally, you arrived at the safe haven that was the apartment you shared with Charles. He wasn't back yet, since he had gone for dinner with some friends for the evening.

You got yourself comfortable, taking a shower and snuggling up on the couch. As you watched a movie, you couldn't help but feel saddened by the actor's success.

They were household names, doing what they loved for a living. And there you were. Sat on your couch counting the hours away.

You just wished you could have been like them - even if just a little bit. Hell, you just wanted to be someone. You just wanted be something.

These thoughts rushed through your head for a while, so much to the point where you failed to notice the movie had ended and you were staring at a blank screen with watery eyes.

You also failed to notice the front door opening and closing as a tear of disdain and jealousy rolled down your cheek. "Hey, amor. How are you?" Charles asked, but you couldn't snap out of your darkened haze.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" He asked again, placing a hand on your shoulder and shaking you slightly.

"What am I doing with my life?" You asked, your eyes still glued to the black screen. You didn't hesitate to ask, there was no point. "What?" he asked, clearly not understanding the question.

"Who am I?" you asked, and Charles just looked at you, trying to figure out what you were asking. This was so out of the blue since you were normally a happy, cheerful kind of person.  "Exactly, I'm no one," you said, leaning forward and resting your elbows on your knees after he didn't respond.

"I just serve shitty coffee to shitty people and that is my life," you continued, the frustration building as you spoke. "Nobody knows who I am and nobody cares," you rambled, shrugging his hand away.

"Baby, you know that's not true," he said, struggling to come up with something to help you snap out of the stupor. He wondered how long you had felt like this for it to all come out so suddenly and strongly. "There's no point in trying that, Charles. I know it is,"

"I used to be untouchable," you sighed, thinking back to when you met Charles and what had lead up to it. You had worked your ass off like you had through your whole life. You tried hard in school and did everything you could to contribute to your community and others around you. 

"I used to be amazing, and now look at me," you babbled. You were living your dream, but you left your job to move to Monaco with Charles. "I threw it all away," you whispered, not wanting Charles to think it was his fault in the slightest. 

"But you are amazing," he tried to console, his heart breaking to hear you talk about yourself like this. "Not anymore," you said, thinking about what you could have been. Long distance could have worked and maybe you'd be happy right now.

"You can be whatever you want to be, you know that right?" he asked, not realising what he had set himself up for. "I'm not talented enough to be a singer, I'm not pretty enough to be a model, I'm not charismatic enough to be a talk show host, I'm not driven enough to have my dream be my job like you,"

"Everyone already has their lives planned out and are making leaps and bounds towards their end goal, and then there's me. Wasting my time and wallowing in my own self pity," you sighed, and Charles was wracking his brains for something that might help.

"You're still young, baby, you have loads of time to figure it out. And once you do, you have more than enough to get yourself there because you can do anything you put your mind to," he tried to reassure, mentally cursing at himself for how cheesy that sounded.

He hated that you had this opinion of yourself. To him, it didn't matter if you were the most talented, the prettiest, the most charismatic. It just mattered that you were you and he loved you for that. 

"But everyone else has it figured out. Everyone is already someone. You're Charles Leclerc, the face of Ferrari, the man from Monaco, hero to children across the globe. You have a purpose.  And what about me? Well that's exactly it, I'm just me," 

"There's no such thing as 'just me'. You are hard-working beyond belief, you take pride in your job, you care about other people, you're the love of my life. Surely that's enough?" he desperately tried to claw you back out of the slump, but his sweet words couldn't shield the darkness this time.

"Maybe it isn't, not anymore," you mumbled, standing from the couch and shutting yourself in the bedroom, leaving Charles sat on the couch by himself, gobsmacked. He didn't know how to help you realise how brilliant you really were, but you didn't really know either.  

A/N - I went to see Barbie the other night, and this song just destroyed me. I guess it just made me think about things, y'know? If anyone has any requests, feel free to submit them, I adore writing them!

|masterlist|

[sunshineandspencer]

Coffee shop

A/N: I have never had an original experience, because every woman I’ve ever known has always wanted to run a mix of a coffee shop and a library/florists, I am no different. That isn’t what this fic is about, but I’ll take any chance to lament about my lack of funds for a coffee-floristry-library shop 😔😔😔

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.

Summary: If Spencer Reid had a nickel for everytime he ran into someone on his daily routines that he believes might be a serial killer, he’d now have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: talking about blood(??), nothing really

I have redone the form for the taglist now that I’m apparently expanding from Criminal Minds

Spencer liked his routines. He’s invested a lot of time in developing a comfortable routine whenever work in Quantico goes for longer than usual. For whenever he’s home.

Part of that routine is treating himself to breakfast. Knowing damn well that he wouldn’t eat otherwise - the toaster is his mortal enemy and has been unplugged since he moved into his apartment, refusing to repeat the mistake that lost him his favourite mug.

He sampled a lot of coffee shops that are close to his apartment, not wanting to walk further than 10 minutes away just for a decent cup of coffee and some breakfast. Until, finally, he found the one that fit his very specific - and not at all autistic - guidelines for what he needed, finding himself pushing that door open at 07:09 everyday he’s home.

‘Virgin’s Coffee House’, probably a little too on the nose considering he’s.. himself, but the owner explained that it was actually ‘Virginia’s Coffee House’ until these two kids stole the letters four separate times and the owner just gave up. Accepting their fate.

That specific time, too, was well tested to get just the right moment. 07:09.

Just quiet enough that he’s comfortable but not suffocated by an overwhelming silence, they have a gentle radio choice that he adored, excellent warm pastries, and in those early hours his little space was permeated with a soft floral scent, the notes of which are heavenly.

Then, of course, being a man with an eidetic memory, his brain swiftly catalogued the regulars that he would see every single time he visited, the NPCs to his daily routine.

There’s the man who drops his girlfriend - the barista - off to work, the man who is always hunched over his laptop by the window and is seemingly constantly perplexed at the sun slipping through the blinds he pulls down. The owner that ignores her barista ‘sneaking’ free pastries to her boyfriend to go and smoke out back, and the woman that is somehow always directly ahead of him in the queue.

For a while, and because of her consistency with it, he wondered if she might wait somewhere to spot him coming, and then dart into the shop to get ahead of him. A thought he quickly dismissed as crazy, and one only a profiler would get to a conclusion with. Settling with the answer that they just have similar routines.

He has some sense of her job, from the lanyard usually haphazardly shoved into her bag, and the clothes she wore. But he isn’t the kind of person to just strike up conversations with women - hell, anyone.

Until today.

On her hip, over the top of her very pretty, sage sundress, she had a handprint. A small, child-sized handprint in, what he was hoping, was paint. Dark red.. dried paint. Right.

Tapping her shoulder, it clearly surprised her that her own routine was broken from the usual quiet queue for her coffee, although she turned to him with a confused smile. This action, merely turning to face him, immediately gave him the revelation that the pretty floral scent he keeps coming back for is her.

Quickly smiling back and pointing down at her hip, going for blissfully unaware rather than alerted FBI agent.

“Hallowe’en in September?”

Nice, casual question, not at all giving away the inner screaming of Jesus Christ, don’t let this beautiful woman be a murderer.

Keeping his eyes on her face to see what kind of reaction she has, as she looks down. Tugging at the fabric so she could see it clearly, tutting softly and immediately worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Oh.. yeah, that looks worse than it did yesterday.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He’s found a serial killer. In his coffee shop. How the hell does this keep happening to--

“What about this one, I haven’t even tried to get it off yet because we’re doing more today.”

Pulling the skirt of her dress back to normal to show him a neon orange - slightly smaller - handprint on her knee, like a child had smacked her leg with a handful of paint.

Which, thankfully, confirmed his previous assumption that she works in Kindergarten.

“That’s very uhm.. well.”

He tried to say something nice, but the longer he searched and shuffled through all the words in his brain, the brighter her smile got. And the more nervous he got about saying the wrong thing to this genuinely really pretty woman. Christ, he’s making himself look like an idiot.

Coming to his rescue, before he started spewing out Shakespearean compliments because that’s all his brain could focus on, she waved with a softly dismissive hum.

“Don’t worry, I know it’s not really my colour. Some of the kids took ‘paint your teacher’ a little too literal. But it’s only their first week so I’m letting it slide.”

Now that the fear of her being a serial killer is gone, he’s left with the brutal realisation that she’s beautiful. Which, unfortunately means that acknowledgement of her looks causes his brain to stop working. Beautiful women, as Emily has eloquently stated, slash his IQ to 60.

“You- You work with children?”

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to mind his sudden stutter, or that he’s unconsciously fiddling with his tie. Only smiling brighter, despite him now being apparently unable to get a full sentence out compared to before.

“Yeah! Real young kids, who haven’t learnt that paint goes on their paper and not the teacher, not yet anyway. Why? That handprint make you think I was a murderer?” She was clearly teasing, but his flushed cheeks and averted gaze told her the truth. “Oh my God you did.”

Her jaw dropped and she didn’t look away from him as they shuffled up the queue, from where he was desperately trying to explain.

Searching his bag, diving into it really, to try and find his badge to prove who he is. This is the first time he’s ever felt genuine hatred for his messenger bag, everything just falling in the way of his ID that would prove that he’s not crazy, he’s just insanely observant.

Finding it with a breathless laugh and holding it out to her, giving a pleadingly nervous smile.

“I’m- I work for the FBI! The Behavioural Analysis Unit, I catch serial killers and, well, it looked--”

He just gestured again to the dark red paint dried into the fabric of her dress. Terrified he’d ruined this interaction by assuming incorrectly.

But she just laughed, and not at all insulted or upset like he thought, just seemingly amused by the whole thing. Hand falling back to the print, thumbing at the dried paint, some flakes falling to the floor between them before being swept away by the wind from the open door.

“It’s okay, I knew it didn’t look great, but catching the attention of an FBI agent? I’ll take it.”

Still stumbling over his words, he desperately looks for the right thing to say, wanting to get the mush in his brain out to apologise again and again. Something about her smile made him want to reassure her a hundred times over.

“Not that, of course, you look anything like a serial killer. Although female serial killers are, usually, far better at hiding that they are killers, and are actually called silent killers. So even if you were, you seem way too smart to leave a handprint on your dress. Not- that I’m saying you would know how to be a murderer, but I just- I had to make sure--”

“Really, it’s alright, uh..” looking down, she runs her fingers over his name before handing his ID badge back, “Spencer, really. It’s a nice thought, knowing I have such observant agents in my area. Makes me feel.. safe.”

And not a hint of sarcasm, paired with a genuine smile. Her name was called for a coffee and that split moment she turned away gave him a chance to react.

Hearing his name in her gently teasing voice had made his heart beat so damn hard against his chest he half expected to look down and see it beating out cartoonishly. Pressing the heel of his palm to the centre of his chest to try and calm down before she turned back around.

That smile still on her face when she did, her name written all pretty on her cup, and fitting her perfectly.

“Could you explain what the Behavioural Analysis Unit does? I’m still not sure.”

He went to open his mouth, happy to spew facts, knowing that’s his comfort zone more than anything else, and wanting to show that he can do more than word vomit whatever comes to the tip of his tongue first.

But she shakes her head, taking out her phone and tapping some things before handing it over to him. An empty contact page, except for the name which was already filled in with ‘Spencer (the cute coffee guy)’ at which his eyes darted back to hers, although his thumbs were already putting in his number.

“How about tomorrow? About six-forty?”

Handing back the phone after checking the number, and replying with a breathy ‘yeah’, at which she smiled and walked past him. His own name getting called for his coffee, but not turning to get it until she left the shop.

When she turned to look back at him with a small wave, he knew he was absolutely done for wherever this woman is concerned.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Spencer. Six-forty, it’s a date, don’t be late.” Slipping out so that he could take that in himself, not actually moving until his name gets called for the fourth time, and the barista throws a balled up napkin at him. A daft smile on his face as he whips out his phone to text Garcia all about the date he’s going on tomorrow morning.

Want more?! Good!

taglist ( ˘ ³˘)♥ @peliides ║ @peachsodameg ║ @angelinajolie0213 ║ @jiggly-puff-12 ║ @khxna ║ @kennedy2156 ║ @trulycayla ║ @none-of-your-bullshit ║ @alexxavicry ║ @meg-black ║ @princess76179 ║ @chicken-fifi ║ @averyhotchner ║ @punkyghoulz ║ @person-005 ║ @aaronlovesava ║ @Optimisticsandwichgladiator ║ @cultish-corner ║ @xox0_emma ║ @whatyagottado ║ @wonderland2425 (if your tag is here and not working check out this reblog to see if any of it could hopefully help!!)

[thechekhov]

How often would you say that you draw comics and art while also focus on the other things in life; work, family, etc?

Like, for example, if you had an exact number of minutes, hours, or days of drawing, what is an estimate per day or week? I'm just curious.

Honestly, it's difficult to count since my workweeks tend to vary based on the season but here's a quick example:

I don't work full-time at this point but I do have an hour commute both ways, and because I'm on a salary, I'm sometimes forced to stay overtime, meaning that my entire day is just sleep-eat-work-eat-sleep in that order, with nothing else that really happens that day.

During non-work days, most of my non-work time is..... art-work time!

And by that I mean that if I'm not washing the dishes, running an errand or spacing out, I'm drawing.

When do I play video-games or watch shows? I don't.

When do I spend time with friends? I don't.

Not unless it's specifically scheduled, such as when someone visits from far away. I have about 1 hour of social stuff set aside each week because I participate in a taiko group in the city I work at.

When I count it up, my art stuff ends up being anywhere between 30 -35 hours each work. My part time job is supposed to be 24 hours (not counting the commute), but often ends up going over. And I usually need another 5 hours each week to take care of the back-end office stuff - scheduling posts, managing Patreon, answering asks and planning future stuff.

I will admit I would not be able to do that if it were not for the kindness of my partner, who takes care of most of the cooking and cleaning, and often ends up cooking me things to eat:

I appreciate him and his commitment to keeping me alive very much

Also, just to be clear: I am not pretending that this is not a good work-life balance.

It it just the balance that works for ME, personally. I think most people would find this...less great.

I do not go out for coffees with pals. I do not watch new series, and I do not partake in social events. This is something I am fine with, but I know many other people would find my life incredibly repetitive and boring.

Actually, looking at this math laid out, I am quite disappointed in not being able to accomplish more with the 30 hours I have per week. But...the reality is that aside from running the comic on my Patreon and doing random personal doodling on my main blog, I'm also often trying to do other projects in the background that I don't feel like sharing until their completion.

The reality is, I enjoy this load, though. I make it work for me, and I'm getting to do stuff I like AND make money for myself and my partner! So I'm fine with it. I'm not actually dying from exhaustion.

It's just hilarious when I sometimes get asks going "Hey, have you played that latest 130-hour-long videogame? :)" followed by a swift "I wish you would post comics daily again :((( I want more arrttttt" like kids, you can't have both, I don't know what to tell you.

[heliads]

Hey! I love your writing sm

could you pls do an f1 soulmate au with charles x carlos?

maybe whatever a person writes on themselves shows up on their soulmate so they write each other cute 'good luck' notes or jokes before races and maybe they realize they're soulmates when one of them gets a podium and the other person sees their drawings :)

i understand that you wanted this to be cute. however have you considered that they could be insane instead. have you considered that there could be mind games, bestie. think about the mental warfare (i am)

masterlist

Carlos Sainz believes that his secrets come out the fastest when he’s drinking. Doesn’t even have to be alcohol, his favorite ruiner of silence– he’s let out contract details and personal opinions just as freely with isotonic water after a race as with a shot someone hands him two hours into a post-race celebration. It’s easy to let your guard down when you think you’re with a friend, when the stakes don’t seem high, when he knows better but doesn’t want to admit it.

That’s why he feels a rippling wave of panic when he sees Charles walking across the Ferrari hospitality, two cups of coffee in his hands. Charles sits down at an empty table for two, places one cup in front of himself and one at the empty chair, and looks pointedly at Carlos. Carlos thinks to himself, this can’t be good, and mentally reminds himself to book an appointment with PR sooner rather than later.

He takes the seat. Some things, you can’t fight. Charles still smiles anyway, pleased, and says, “I got you coffee.”

Carlos had noticed this, surprisingly. It was difficult to ignore. “You’re being nice,” he remarks, blowing into the hole on the lid to cool down the liquid inside.

“I am nice,” Charles protests. His accent comes out more when he’s unhappy, it makes the syllables bunch up together like pleats of fabric.

Carlos arches a brow, and takes a sip of his coffee instead of answering. Scuderia Ferrari loves to claim that they adore the art of coffee just as much as their mother country, but every time Carlos gets coffee from hospitality it’s either flavorless or burnt, depending on who serves it. Charles’ attempt isn’t terrible, but he doubts Charles did anything more to prepare it than just put in an order. It’s a nice gesture, though. Just like Charles said.

When he looks up and the steam properly clears from his vision, Charles is still pouting at him. Carlos shakes his head, smiling to himself. He makes it so easy sometimes, to mess with his head. It’s kind of fun. Poker, but with a far prettier deck of cards. 

“Alright, fine,” he relents, grinning so Charles knows he’s in on the joke, “I’m just teasing. No need to get mad, cabrón.”

“I’m not mad,” Charles says, a hint of a smile on his face although he stubbornly tries to shake it, “just interested in defending my honor.”

“Your honor?” Carlos asks, laughing in earnest. “So lord-esque, that is what I have been telling you. Of course Lord Perceval would defend his honor.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “You can deal with my honor, mate. I got you coffee.”

“And I am grateful for it every time you bring it up,” Carlos says, and takes a sip to prove it.

Charles does the same, but his eyes remain on Carlos the whole time. “So? Is it true what they’re saying?”

Carlos wants more than coffee for a conversation that starts out like this. “Who’s saying what?”

Charles gestures vaguely towards his phone. “Everybody. They say you’re going to leave Ferrari when your contract expires.”

Ah. That. “People love rumors,” he says absentmindedly, “I never thought you’d pay attention to them.”

“I don’t usually, but I was interested in this one,” Charles admits. “You’d tell me if you were leaving, right?”

“I’m not leaving,” Carlos says.

Charles sets down his cup. “But you’d tell me, right?”

“I would,” Carlos says. Pauses. Starts again. “What’s gotten into you, man? I never took you for someone to fall for theories like this.”

Charles shakes his head a little too quickly. “I’m not. They just seemed to believe it.” 

Carlos shrugs. “They believe a lot. My contract doesn’t expire until next year. They won’t worry about me for a while.”

“Should I?” Charles asks. “Worry about you, I mean.”

Carlos looks at him, really looks at him. The tense grip of his teammate’s hands around his coffee, even despite the heat still emanating through the cup. The furtive glances he keeps sneaking towards Carlos, then abruptly looking at the cup again when he gets caught.

“I’m not going,” Carlos says gently. More gently than he’d answer any interviewer, anyway.

Charles nods quickly, his head bobbing like a doll on a string. “Of course. Besides, I have too much interest for you to leave yet. Not until we figure out your, ah–” A pause. Delicate, but not at all from a polite inclination, no matter how it might seem to any outsider.

Carlos groans, exasperated. “My soulmate? My God, Charles, you have to give this up at some point.”

If it were not enough to have an overly inquisitive teammate, one that’s rather good at using his eyes and smile to get what he wanted, Carlos has been cursed with a racing partner that’s unnaturally interested in his missing other half. Carlos himself wants to figure out who his soulmate is, obviously, but at this point he thinks Charles is even more invested.

They all have soulmates. Supposedly. There’s probably at least a couple people out there who skipped that universal drawing of lots, but Carlos knows for certain that he is not one of them because his soulmate contacts him almost every day. Some people go weeks or even months without finding so much as a scribble appearing out of thin air on their skin, but Carlos blinks and there’s a new sentence on his forearm, bruising his knuckles, curling around his ankle. Whoever his soulmate is, they don’t care much for being ignored.

Neither does his teammate. Charles huffs out an exasperated breath. “If you will not be curious, I will be curious for you. You’re always so cagey about it, anyway. I know they write to you. Don’t you want to know?”

“Of course I want to know who they are,” Carlos scoffs. “What I don’t get is why you want to know. Why don’t you focus on your own other half for a change?”

Charles just leans back in his chair, grinning coolly. Ah, yes. Carlos has suspected for some time that Charles already has an idea as to who his soulmate is, but for some reason Carlos has never seen her around the paddock. It could be that Charles is just keeping their relationship private, but he doubts it. Charles likes his trophies visible and his games extensive. More likely than not, Charles has his soulmate engaged in some kind of cat-and-mouse game so they figure it out without too much help on his end. It’s hellishly manipulative, but he’s charming enough that they all let it slide.

Even Carlos, although he at least tries to put up a fight. Sometimes, he thinks Charles is amusingly aware of that, and doubles down on his efforts to get Carlos to cave until both of them are locked in some sort of affectionate stalemate.

“You shouldn’t worry so much,” Charles hums, pleased that he’s got the other hand. “I mean,” he says, leaning forward abruptly to seize Carlos’ hand in his own, “Don’t you want to know about yours? Aren’t you curious?”

Whoever sat at their table before them left a Sharpie behind by accident; Charles picks it up now, uncapping it with the same hand without letting go of Carlos. “You could just ask them right now, who they are,” Charles muses. The tip of the Sharpie hovers millimeters above the curve of Carlos’ palm, waiting. 

Carlos stares at the black ink. It’s easier to focus on the skin when he mumbles, “They wouldn’t answer.”

You’re not supposed to. Unspoken rules. He’s never liked that sort of thing, and neither has Charles, who knows this and smiles unkindly anyway. “You don’t know that.”

“Don’t I?” Carlos asks, mostly to himself. Charles doesn’t appear to hear him. The Sharpie dips lower until it touches Carlos’ skin. Immediately, the black ink flowers into his palm. Carlos waits for Charles to keep writing, to scrawl a question like who are you or can I fly you to a Grand Prix paddock, asap but instead Charles flinches, slams the palm of his own hand down towards the table, and covers up the pen again.

“Maybe you should do it yourself,” Charles mutters by way of explanation.

“Maybe,” Carlos says. He’s not sure if he’s agreeing or not. It would be easier, he thinks, to have Charles take the wheel again. It would also hurt more. Carlos caps the pen when it becomes obvious that Charles will not. “Drink your coffee,” he says. “It’ll get cold.”

Charles does as told, which is sort of surprising. Usually, he likes pushing the envelope until someone tells him to quit it. It appears to Carlos, though, that they have reached an unspoken limit, a line drawn out in black Sharpie on tanned skin that will not be crossed again.

A few minutes pass. They’re both quiet. Charles whispers into the condensation of his cup, “You’re not leaving, though, right?”

Carlos smiles. “I’m not.” Contracts change, obviously, but he’ll try to fight it. They all try.

They leave not long afterwards, race week means that they don’t have a lot of time to sit around. There’s always something to be filmed for media duties, an interview to conduct, checks to run through with engineers. Still, Carlos is somehow calmer than he was before, even despite the additional caffeine.

Charles, by contrast, seems jumpier than usual as they head towards the exit.

“Did you enjoy your coffee?” Carlos asks pointedly. 

 Charles glances quickly over both shoulders, then groans when he’s sure that no one can overhear him. “No, God. It’s terrible.”

Carlos chuckles. “But you went to so much trouble to get it. Surely you can pretend it’s more than just terrible. You drank, like, all of it.”

Charles gives him an appraising look. “It’s better with someone else.”

It occurs to Carlos, as he walks back to his driver’s room, that they may not just have been talking about coffee after all. He’s stopped by one of his PR advisors on the way back– apparently there’s a new TikTok trend that would be just great for him to do– and although he doesn’t feel that shaken, he must look it, because they only get halfway through a discussion of trending sounds before the agent asks if everything is alright.

Carlos scoffs. “Of course I’m alright.”

The agent arches a brow. “Are you sure? You look a little unsettled. Don’t tell me you were talking to George about track times again, he has that effect on everyone before qualis.”

Carlos shakes his head. “No, I didn’t see him. I was speaking with Charles, though, about nothing in particular. Just coffee and soulmates and stuff.” Unable to stop himself, he leans a little closer, drops his voice until it’s more of a whisper. “He’s found his soulmate, hasn’t he? She’s got to be around here somewhere.”

His PR agent, surprisingly, shakes their head. “No, he’s said nothing about it to us, and we’ve asked loads of times. Are you certain that they’re a she, though? That wasn’t the impression I got.”

Carlos stands utterly still. He thinks his blood may have cooled in his veins, congealing into a solid. He is not sure he could move if he tried. “Charles told you that?”

“Once,” the agent says offhandedly. “He got sick of us asking about his mystery woman. I don’t think he meant to let it slip, but you know how he is with secrets.”

They’re laughing at that. Carlos tries to chuckle along with him, but he can’t really do more than nod, because now he’s thinking about Charles’ soulmate being a man. It’s the driver in him, he supposes, the dreamer, that if he can imagine any scenario he would also imagine himself in it, and so it follows that now Carlos cannot stop thinking about the man on the other side of Charles’ heart being him, being Carlos. The picture fits a little too well. 

Carlos had never pictured his soulmate and thought of a man, but sometimes he’ll be up on the podium with Charles, champagne high and bright in the air, and he thinks maybe– maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing, not having a girl like that. He already knows what it’s like, anyway, to be at the top of the world and have another man standing there with him. If God did not intend for us to be with someone of the same sex, then why would He make it feel so natural?

Carlos somehow manages to end the conversation, to slip back into the relative safety of his driver’s room and lean his entire body weight against the door. He stares up at the ceiling, hands fisting the red fabric of his Ferrari jacket at his sides, and he lets himself, for the first time, wonder if his soulmate might not be a man as well. Anything Charles can do, Carlos can too, or so the commentators have started to say. Anyone Charles could love, Carlos could too. Anything his would be theirs. 

It is a risky thought. Pessimists will tell you that soulmates are good for nothing but getting your hopes up. Carlos does not know who his soulmate is nor, odds are, will he ever. It does no good to think about what he wants until he already has it. 

Later that day, Carlos tells his soulmate in non-descript block letters, All things must end. He caps the pen and covers his hand for the rest of the day. He sees Charles some hours later, looking pale and frightened. Carlos cannot, will not, imagine why.

He tries to push it from his mind. They are not hiding in Ferrari hospitality for the thrill of it, after all, but to prepare for the race ahead. Qualifying comes and goes, nothing to write home about but at least they should be decently in the points. One of them might be able to make it to a podium if they can give Lando Norris the slip. The best case scenario is that Checo will bin it so they could get a 1-2, but who knows if they’ll have any semblance of luck today.

Carlos qualified one position ahead of Charles. Fred Vasseur is already starting to eye him like a lamb to the slaughter, and Carlos makes a mental reminder to continually ask his engineer for Charles’ times during the race. He has a feeling that team orders might be given.

Strangely enough, it doesn’t make Carlos angry towards Charles as much as he thinks it should. He is irritated by Ferrari, of course, for picking one driver over another, but that’s expected in any given scenario in which the cars are swapped. Usually, though, that sort of thing happens enough times that you start directing your ire towards the other driver, but Carlos cannot manage that. In fact, he never has. Hating Charles is unthinkable. It would be easier to hate himself. Right?

Getting ready in his driver’s room before the race that Sunday, Carlos is struck by a sudden, unthinkable idea. He rummages around in his belongings for a while before coming up with a pen. Dark, thick, the kind you use for autographs when the hapless fan forgets to bring a writing implement of their own. Carlos uncaps it, stares at his skin, then starts to scribble. Words, underlined, circled. Do well. Good luck. Please.

He doesn’t know if– but he could, maybe, if he saw. Carlos loses himself in a frenzy, then snaps out of it just as quickly when his palms get covered in writing. The sound of footsteps outside his door makes him flinch, and he tugs on his gloves as fast as he can, smearing the ink even more than before. It doesn’t matter. Odds are nothing will come of this anyway.

The race goes as expected. Checo does not crash, much to the chagrin of all other teams, and Carlos gets stuck behind him long enough that they start talking about switching him with Charles, which happens around lap forty. When the checkered flag waves, Charles is third, Carlos fourth. He parks quickly and hurries over to the front. By the time he gets there, Charles has already withdrawn inside the cooldown room but Carlos can shoulder in with the other Ferrari crew and shout and slap each other on the back and that’s good, too, it really is.

He will tell himself that it is. Carlos, by now, has gone to a lot of teams and learned about a lot of strategy choices. He knows how to convince himself that something is fine, that the decisions of the team are ones he agrees with. He can idle with the crew and stare up at the podium with a fixed smile on his face, because Carlos is a Good Teammate and Good Teammates show up for each other. They accept team orders when they come their way. They do not stand in the shade of someone else’s idol and think, this isn’t fair.

Of course it isn’t fair, it’s motorsport. Charles is the one they love the most, even when he’s erratic and crashes every other race. Charles is the pretty boy, the golden one, Il Predestinato. Carlos is merely his father’ son. 

Charles, who figured out the whole game of soulmates months before. He guessed, at least. Told that to Carlos one night, grinning, drunk, spiraling after another lost podium. Charles had waited with wide eyes and a frozen smile as if waiting for Carlos to put something together, but the other shoe never dropped and eventually the moment ended, both of them pulled apart by other friends, downing other drinks, pretending they never existed. 

Carlos thinks of it now. He watches Charles emerge from the shadows of the space behind the podium to stand in the blinding sunlight, waving down at all of them. One of the mechanics is elbowing him in the side, speaking in that low voice they all get when they do the boy’s club talk, you know, someone’s soulmate likes him well enough, obviously, and Carlos has no idea what he’s talking about until he looks up and sees. Sees Charles, his palms dark with ink. From up here, it’s too small to see what is written. The Catholic boy in him thinks stigmata which is wrong, obviously, because there is no great divine mystery here, not when Carlos knows what happened.

Not when Carlos was the one to write all of it earlier that day. He’d almost forgotten during the course of the race, but it all comes flooding back now. That’s his ink on Charles’ hands, and that means– That means Charles is his soulmate. Always has been. Always will be.

Carlos stares up at him. Charles looks down, and although he’s been grinning with victory this whole time, the smile that slides onto his face upon seeing his teammate is different than before, it’s knowing. Charles knows that Carlos has figured it out at last. He’s been waiting for him to do it all this time.

It’s almost obscene, how close Charles must have come to telling him about a thousand times. Who would risk it like that? No one. Charles would. Carlos pictures him with the Sharpie earlier that week, black tip poised above his skin. How he’d caught himself before giving himself up. Perfect timing, a driver’s reflexes. Like managing to right yourself right before sending your car into the wall. Or, better, like doing it anyway. Like accelerating before you go. Like leaving your hands on the wheel so your wrists can break, too, not just your heart. 

Yes, Charles would. Charles Leclerc would. Charles, so impatient for his first championship that he’d give up his current chance by overshooting every corner, by doing too much until he ends up in the wall time and time again. This is the man who would expose his soulmate like a throat to a knife, and Carlos has known this about him for years.

The Ferrari section of the paddock is insane after getting a podium, so no one notices when Carlos fights his way through the crowds to let himself into Charles’ driver’s room. It’s empty when he arrives, Charles must have many more people to get through, so he paces relentlessly back and forth until Charles shows up.

Charles bursts through the door, still talking to someone down the hall. His exuberance crashes to a halt the second he sees Carlos waiting, and he hurriedly tells whoever is there not to wait up. Charles carefully closes the door behind him, locks it too, and then it’s just the two of them and this great and all encompassing secret for company. 

Charles swallows. “You know.”

Of course he does. Friends show up at each other’s driver’s rooms all the time, but this isn’t just on the order of congratulations for a good race result. They would not be hovering on the edge of this great precipice if it was just that. 

“You knew earlier,” Carlos challenges. 

Charles ducks his head in a nod. “I did.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Carlos asks. 

Charles’ gaze is shifty, it flicks from ceiling to floor to walls, anywhere but Carlos himself. Charles has always been a daredevil for the risks, but he’s never had the stomach for what becomes of them. The consequences are always a thousand times worse than the actions. 

“I didn’t think you would want it. Want me,” he corrects, almost whispering. 

This is so absurd that Carlos almost wants to laugh. Almost, because the look on Charles’ face is so pitiful that he can’t even smile. “Why wouldn’t I?” Carlos asks. 

Charles blinks in surprise. “Because you were never even that interested in finding out who your soulmate was, mate. Always said it would just be some girl you didn’t know. I didn’t want to see your face when you realized you didn’t even get some girl but me.”

“I didn’t want to look too much into my soulmate because I was afraid it wouldn’t be you,” Carlos says in a rush, and as he admits it he knows it’s true. 

How could it be anything but that? Carlos could have picked any team, but he went here. A hardheaded (formerly red) bull chasing not just the scarlet flag but the matador himself. Charles, all along. 

Charles’ eyes are wide, lashes darker even than the ink still staining his palms. “So you’re not mad, then?” He asks cautiously. 

“Not mad and not leaving,” Carlos reiterates. 

A ghost of a smile flickers over Charles’ lips. “You cannot blame me for wanting to be sure, I didn’t want you to go until I managed to tell you.”

“You certainly took your time about it,” Carlos comments. 

Charles rolls his eyes. “Just because we are racers does not mean we have to do everything fast, Carlos. Be patient.”

Carlos arches a brow. “You are telling me that?”

Charles has the grace to look at least a little ashamed. “Yes. Well. I can be patient now.”

Of course he can. They both can. Most people spend their entire lives searching for the answer to a question that is no longer a mystery to either of them. Time is all they have, time and sweet-sticky champagne and the sensation of being at the top of the world. Nothing will change them. Everything will. For once, though, the change does not scare him. It’s not bad, all of the time. 

Sometimes, it brings him Charles. Sometimes, it brings him this. No, not bad in the slightest. 

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

also: @quill-of-a-sparrow

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[mrsevans90]

Puppy Love

Captain Syverson x OFC Emma Miller Part 15

Summary: Austin Syverson has returned to Texas after retiring from the military and starts his own contracting business. Syverson is used to being alone and thinks he prefers it that way. While at work he stumbles upon an injured and abused puppy. When he meets the new veterinarian in town, Emma Miller, he is immediately smitten with her. It turns out Emma has some baggage of her own. Will they be able to make it work? Or is it just a case of fleeting puppy love?

Pairing: Henry Cavill as Captain Austin Syverson x OFC Emma Miller 

Warnings: FLUFF, arm cast injury, Nana sassiness, crude language, innuendos, and Walt!

MINORS DNI! Must be 18+

I do not authorize any copying/pasting, stealing of my work, or using my words as your own. 

This story is not beta’d. All mistakes are my own.

A/N: I am an imperfect person who makes mistakes. All that I ask is to please be kind and if you enjoy it then please comment and REPOST! I appreciate any love, comments, and reposts more than you could know. Thank you for reading! 

Part 14

I lay in bed holding Emma for as long as she sleeps, refusing to leave her side for more than a quick restroom break. Emma is wrapped around my body as it helps her to relax and I’m more than happy to have her curled against me. Emma begins to rouse around ten am and I know she needed every bit of that additional sleep for both her exhausted body and brain to recuperate.

“Hi.” Emma whispers while sleepily rubbing her eyes with her left hand as she sees me watching her.

“Mornin’ Sugar. You sleep okay?” 

She nods but doesn’t say anything.

“How’s the arm?” I ask and she looks down sheepishly. 

“Hurts. I need some more Tylenol and maybe ice.” She admits.

“Let’s get some in ya then. After breakfast, I’m taking you to the urgent care and I don’t want to hear a word about it.” I tell her using my “captain voice” that she once told me she thinks is dominant and sexy.

“Okay.” She agrees knowing I’m not going to back down from getting her proper care.

She takes care of her needs in the bathroom before we brush our teeth and she sits on the bed. I walk over and pick her up where I wrap her legs around me before I start heading down the stairs.

“Austin. My legs aren’t hurt. I can walk.”

“I know, but I want to hold you.”

“You’re going to reinjure your leg carrying me around like this.” She says as she buries her head in my neck and goosebumps raise on my arms and neck from her mouth so close to my sweet spot.

“I’m a bit tougher than you think, darlin’.” 

“Oh, I think you’re plenty tough.” She whispers against my neck and I feel the blood rushing to my dick. Not now, Syverson.

I set her on the counter next to the coffee maker and start brewing us some coffee that I’ve been thinking about for the past 3 hours. I’m used to waking up much earlier than this and am usually finished with my second cup by this point. 

“Biscuits, sausage and eggs sound good?” I ask and she nods. I pull the frozen peas from the freezer and place them across her bandaged arm.

“Not a word about my canned biscuits.” I tease her and she holds up her wrapped arm.

“Not really in a position to tease since my homemade ones would be a lot more difficult to make today.” I was about to apologize again for her getting injured but am surprised when she kicks my rear with her foot from where she’s sitting and winks at me. I love when she’s playful like this, especially after what happened yesterday.

“When are we getting the dogs back home?” Emma asks.

“Whenever you’d like, Sugar. I can call PawPaw and arrange something after we go to the doctor.”

“Okay, I guess I need to call my parents and let them know what happened yesterday.” She says sullenly.  “I’m here for you babe. Whatever you need.” I tell her and she goes to get her phone and make the call while I make breakfast. I decide to call my grandparents while cooking and inform them that we obviously won’t be at lunch today. Nana tells me she’s still cooking everything and will package it up for us to take home when we get the dogs. I thank them both for dropping everything to help yesterday and of course they tell us that it was no problem. I ensure Nana that Emma is okay and I’ll keep them updated on what the doctor says about her arm. Nana is going all mother hen and asking to come clean her house or what she can do to help us and as sweet as it is, I just want to give Emma time to process without pressure.

Once breakfast is finished, I set the table and go in search of Emma. I find her on the back porch still on the phone with her parents who were obviously upset. 

“May I?” I gesture to the phone after Emma looks mentally exhausted and she nods.

“James? Diana? Hi, it’s Austin. I just wanted to reassure you that I’m taking care of our girl and taking all of the necessary steps to ensure he doesn’t get out of jail. My cousin, Walt, is a detective and has filed several charges against him and feels confident that between witness testimonies as well as parking lot footage from the store, he will receive significant jail time.”

“We are so grateful that you were there, Austin.” Diana says.

“So am I, I’d like to apologize for not getting there sooner. I have replayed the assault in my head time and time again and wish it had gone so differently.”

“Emma says that you almost killed him before taking care of her, so there’s no need to apologize.” James exclaims.

“I’ll be honest, if I had not been told to stop, I probably would have. I was so enraged that he ever laid a hand on her that I just couldn’t think of anything else. We will go to the doctor here in just a bit to check on her arm, and I promise to keep you guys informed.” I assure them.

After the phone call, I help Emma up and inside.

“Thank you.” Emma kisses me on the cheek.

“Not a problem, Darlin’. Eat up.” I gesture toward the food as I refill her coffee mug.

“Thanks for breakfast as well, but I meant talking to my parents. My dad almost lost his mind. I was running out of steam trying to reassure them and stop them from coming here.” 

“I can’t say I wouldn’t be the same way if it was our daughter in your position. Heaven forbid.”

Emma smiles sweetly. “Our daughter?”

I smirk at her and nod. “You like the sound of that or somethin’?”

“I do.” Those two words coming out of her mouth make me bite back a smile. God, I hope she’ll be saying them to me sooner rather than later.

“Me too, Sugar. You have no idea how much.” I reply before getting lost in the idea of a beautiful little blue-eyed baby girl that looks like her momma.

We eat our breakfast and get dressed before heading to the local urgent care. I know they have an x-ray machine and after the typical hour wait they take her back and examine her injury. It’s determined that she does have a hairline fracture but it shouldn’t need any additional care outside of a cast. She’s referred to an orthopedist next week for a more permanent cast and Emma is not pleased that she’ll have one for the next few weeks, already thinking of ways to convince the doctor that a temporary cast will be much more realistic considering her job. I call Nana on the way back from the doctor and let her know we’re going to head that way to pick up the dogs. I think some snuggles with Mills and Aika will help lift Emma’s spirits. We make our way to the farm and park and I help Emma out of the truck before the front door comes flying open and Nana comes flurrying out.

“Oh, thank God you’re okay!” Nana scuttles down the stairs and I turn thinking she’s going to give me a hug but she blows right past me and wraps Emma up in a tight hug. I can’t help but chuckle at Emma’s face who was clearly not expecting that either.

“I’m okay, Nana. Thanks to Austin of course.” She says and smirks at me.

“I’ve been so worried but Austin begged me to let you rest otherwise I would have been up at your house cooking and cleaning or whatever you needed.”

“Thank you, Nana. I appreciate it. Austin has been taking great care of me though. He’s been amazing.”

“Good. I should hope so.”

“Hi Nana. Nice to see you too.” I joke as she’s been ignoring my presence.

“Hi son.” She answered. Even though I’m their grandson, PawPaw always called me that when I was growing up and working with him on the farm and it kind of just became their nickname for me. I guess because he only had a daughter and my dad never stuck around, he considered me like a son that he could pass all of his knowledge too. Mark never really cared much for working at the farm and believe me, there were times when I hated it as well, but I found the tranquility in being able to mentally detach and build something or fix something tangible as well as working with the animals. Mark was more of the philosophical type who filled his time with school studies or high school girlfriends. I relished being outside and my PawPaw never missed a single football game growing up. Maybe that’s why I stayed so close with my grandparents even after the military sent me away for so many years.

I’m brought back to reality from my thoughts when the screen porch door creaks open with PawPaw sending the pups out to us. I immediately catch the ball of fluff running straight towards us to keep him from jumping on Emma. Mills’s tail is wagging so hard he almost falls over from his excitement. Aika is a bit slower but still just as happy to see us and receive all of the attention and scratches.

“Hi PawPaw.” I greet him as he makes his way down the stairs.

“Hi son. I held the hounds off as long as I could but they heard you and were just pitiful not being able to get to ya.” 

“How much has Nana spoiled them while they were here?” I ask.

“I didn’t!” I hear Nana interrupt her conversation with Emma to defend herself.

“The woman boiled them chicken for supper. Seasoned it and everything. Damn dogs had a feast fit for humans last night. Not to mention she gave them a treat for simply ‘looking cute’ or not barking at the chickens.” PawPaw mutters with a shake of his head and I can’t help but laugh.

“That sounds about right. I’m betting they don’t even want to come back home.” I chuckle as we all head up the stairs into the house. 

“Well she’s back on her soapbox about how she needs a dog now so maybe just let them visit overnight and I can keep holding her off. I’ve got too many animals to feed and tend to without adding more.”

“I’ll bring ‘em over for her to spoil rotten sometime in the next week or so.” I tell him and PawPaw just winks at me.

“Now, clue us in on everything that happened please. Your PawPaw never asks questions and I’ve got about a million of ‘em.”

I look at Emma and she nods giving me silent permission to tell them what happened.

“Emma has an ex who treated her badly while she was in Alabama and she got a restraining order against him. After she moved here, he tracked her down somehow and I called Walt who helped us arrest him for breaking the restraining order. We set her up with security cameras and an alarm system at her home which gave us both peace of mind when she wasn’t with me. He apparently has been following her and was able to somehow find that we were at the store where he attempted to kidnap her in the parking lot. I got to him and knocked him unconscious, and Walt was able to file several charges against him. He fractured Emma’s wrist in the scuffle and she’s supposed to go next week for a temporary cast which she’s not too thrilled about. That’s about it.”

“Oh, heavens. I can’t imagine how scared you must have been, sweetheart.” Nana coos at Emma who nods somewhat embarrassed. “I was. I’m so glad Austin was there and he’s been absolutely amazing. I just worry about him getting in trouble over it.”

“I told ya, Sugar, if he presses charges I’ve got witnesses and video footage to prove it was warranted. I wish I had done worse, honestly.”

“Ya should’ve just smashed his head in.” Nana mutters.

“Nana, what would the church think?” I playfully scoff and we all bust out laughing except PawPaw who just cracks a smile.

“I don’t answer to the church, I answer to the good Lord above and I think he might be okay with that since you were protecting your woman.” She says sassily and I can’t help but shake my head at her.

“You’re something else, Nana.” 

Before we can take the dogs home, Nana practically forces us to eat cookies that she’s made.

She packages them up along with the food that she made at lunch and sends us home with about eight different containers of food, one of which is labeled for the dogs. I load it all in the truck before putting the dogs in the backseat and going back to say goodbye to my grandparents and help Emma in.

I smile as Emma hugs PawPaw tightly and thanks him for helping us the other day.

“Y’all are family, and we’ll always be there if you need us. That goes for either one of ya.” He says and Emma looks flabbergasted to have PawPaw include her in a statement so loving. Those were rare from PawPaw.

“Thank you. We would do anything for y’all too and I’m so grateful to have y’all in my corner.” She smiles shyly at him before Nana scoops her into another hug with promises about lunch next Sunday.

I hug PawPaw tightly and then Nana telling them both that we love them before helping Emma into the truck and heading out. Emma is silent looking out of the window as we make our way down the long drive and when I finally get her attention I see a tear running down her cheek.

“Sugar, what’s wrong? You hurtin’?” I ask thinking either her period or her arm are bothering her.

“No, I’m just grateful. Your grandparents accepted me without any questions even with the drama that follows me. I’ve never had that with anyone other than my parents. Colin’s family tolerated me at best, but they didn’t like that I wasn’t wealthy like them. I wasn’t raised in prestigious private schools and country clubs. I always felt out of place or looked down upon. Your grandparents have met me a few times and seem to fully accept me as part of your family and it’s just the most loving feeling.”

“Aw, babygirl, they do love you. I have no doubt that both of those two old folks would drop everything they were doing if you needed them. You’re part of this family.” I entangle our fingers together as I hold her hand.

“It’s just overwhelming to be accepted so quickly, just as myself.” She says.

“Well, you are. I haven’t brought a woman home in years, not since I was in my early twenties. My grandparents are a great judge of character. Nana is very outspoken both good and bad and with PawPaw, I can just tell by his demeanor when he’s pleased or disappointed in me. I knew he liked you after that first lunch when he hugged you. He’s never felt necessary to conform to southern social niceties, which means he did that because he genuinely wanted too. I think they are honestly so grateful that you put up with my stubborn ass that they are hoping to convince you to stick around.” I joke and Emma smirks.

“You’re more than a handful. I’d say a mouth and two handfuls to be exact.” She crudely insinuates and I almost choke on my own saliva which causes her to giggle.

“Sugar, you surprise me at every turn. You’re this sweet innocent thing one minute and then your joking about taking my dick in your mouth the next. You’re the whole damn package.”

“I could say the same about you.” She sweetly giggles.

“I love you.”

“I love you more, baby.”

The following week has arrived and Emma has somehow convinced the orthopedist to use the hard cast for the next three weeks before moving to a temporary, removable brace. Her charm apparently knows no bounds. She isn’t thrilled about wearing the cast, claiming she feels like she’s back in high school after she broke her ankle from a cheer accident, but I can’t help but smile when she comes in with a blue cast on her forearm.

“Want me to sign it? I promise I won’t draw pornographic stick figures where anyone can see them.” I joke and she rolls her eyes with a gentle shove against me. 

“Not a chance. I’m already mortified that I have to wear it for the next three weeks. I don’t need any additional attention being put on it.”

“I think you look cute.” I kiss her forehead.

“You won’t think that when you’re having to help me put a bag on it just to shower tonight.”

“I promise, I will.”

While Emma is at work, I make an appointment in the next town over. Walt had asked if I wanted to get a beer sometime this week, but instead, I asked him to meet me for lunch. We met up at a fast food restaurant, called Milo’s, where we grabbed some food.

“What are we doing in Bouldin Creek for lunch?” Walt asks as he takes a bite out of his burger.

“There’s a jewelry shop here I need to go to and I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“Plan on getting yourself some new earrings?” He jokes.

“Plan on picking up an engagement ring I’ve been looking at online.” 

“Atta boy.” Walt says as he pops a fry into his mouth.

“Hopefully it’s the right one.” I say as I overthink what’s about to be a very large purchase, and I’ve never talked to Emma about her jewelry preferences.

“I’m sure it will be. When are you planning to pop the question?”

“I haven’t gotten that far. Still stuck on the how to ask the question.” I mumble. I’ve always been a very confident person, but I really don’t want to fuck this up.

“Well, when I asked Angie, I took her out do dinner. I don’t think I’d do that again. If she turned me down that would have sucked in front of everyone. But, we’re divorced so don’t take my advice.” 

“Noted.” I smirk and he punches my arm across the table.

“Don’t be a dick. I was young and in love. You’re just old and in love.” 

“I’m two years younger than you, asshole.”

“Yeah, and I’m old which makes you old too. Can you even get down on one knee?”

I flip him off and he chuckles.

“Yes, I can. I was thinkin’ about maybe just taking her on a picnic or something. Watching the sunset maybe? I don’t even know what I should say but I want to make it romantic for her.”

“Let’s go get the ring and we can brainstorm.”

“Thanks man. Any new updates with Colin?” I ask as we head towards my truck.

“He’s still sitting in jail waiting on the court date in two weeks to determine if he receives bail. We’re obviously making a case for him being a flight risk and asking for him to remain in jail, but I can’t predict what the judge will do. He’s got some outlandish claims which of course haven’t been backed up with evidence.”

“And what are those claims?”

Walt sighs knowing I’m going to get even more pissed off. “He claimed that Emma called him asking him to meet her there and rescue her from you. It’s obvious bullshit and he has no proof that there was ever a call. He’s just trying to save his ass.”

“Rescue her from me?” 

“I told you it was bullshit, man.”

“Jesus. The guy is even more of a pussy than I had imagined. Can’t take accountability for anything it seems. I plan on being there in court, but Emma hasn’t decided what she wants to do yet. I think it’ll be too hard on her to be there but if she wants to go I’m not going to stop her.”

“Well, maybe its best if you both stay away. I’ll be there and can let you know what happens. I think you’ll both just get angry and that’s not what either of you need right now. Why don’t you take her on a trip or something?”

“I’ll think about it. A trip might be a nice distraction from things.”

“Maybe take her somewhere and propose. The mountains, beach, tropical vacation? You’ve traveled more than me so I’m sure you have a better idea.”

“If by traveling, you mean in a damn cargo plane out to the desert, then sure. I have no desire to vacation in Afghanistan.” I joke and Walt rolls his eyes.

We head into the jewelry store and with mine and Walt’s careful opinion, I select the ring that I plan to propose to Emma with. We’ve only been together for a handful of months, but when you know you know, right? I don’t want to waste any more time just on the conventional approach. I have never felt like this with anyone before and I feel like my once in a lifetime, soulmate connection actually came to true. I want her to be mine, officially, if she’ll have me. 

That evening, Emma is home when I get back and I quickly and discreetly hide the ring with my ammunition on the top shelf of the closet knowing that she would never look there and she’s not tall enough to reach it without a stool. She hasn’t stayed at her house since the kidnapping attempt, claiming she just wants to be here with me. I decide to broach the subject over dinner.

“You still serious about wanting to move in here with me?” I ask and without hesitation Emma nods.

“Not because you’re scared of being alone, though right?” “No baby, I’ll admit you’ve helped keep the nightmares away but this just feels like home. It has from the moment I first came here and you being here is the main reason. Though if you want me too, I can go back to mine.”

“Not a chance in hell, Sugar. I want you here constantly with me. That’s why I was hoping we could discuss officially moving ya in and how to make that happen?”

She smiles and I grin back at her.

“I’d love too. What about the furniture?”

“Well, the guest rooms upstairs are empty and you have the eye for interior design. You can replace anything I’ve got in here if you’d like, except for a few sentimental things of my mama’s. Just tell me what you want to do and we’ll make it happen.”

“I don’t have a lot of stuff anyway. Should we list my house?”

“Let’s get it empty first so we’re not in a rush and then we can list it if you want too.”

“I can’t believe I’m actually going to live here with you.”

“I can’t believe I talked you into it, roomie. Let’s start this weekend. I don’t want to await any longer.” I smirk at her and she giggles.

“I also wanted to talk to you about maybe taking a vacation?”

“Where’d you have in mind?” She asks as she picks up her wine glass.

“Honestly, anywhere. I haven’t been on a true honest to God vacation in almost a decade and I’d like to take you somewhere and have some time with just us if you’re up for it.”

“I’d love too!”

“Maybe the beach? We could drive down and spend a week out in the sun.”

“That sounds perfect. I haven’t been to the beach in at least two years.” She says.

“Well, buy yourself some cute little bikinis and I’ll plan the whole thing, alright Sugar?”

“Oh, I’ll buy some bikinis, don’t you worry.” She sasses and I’m already itching to book this vacation and get us away from all obligations and responsibilities. If I plan it right, maybe I can use this as my opportunity to make a romantic proposal.

Emma, the beach, and a bed is all I need. I’m about to be one happy man.

Part 16

Taglist: @shellyshellshell, @henryownsme, @caramariehurst, @beck07990, @mollymal, @kingliam2019, @syversonswife, @identity2212, @starfirewildheart, @hannah9921, @wa-ni, @kneelforloki, @cutedoxie, @enchantedbytomandhenry, @foxyjwls007, @geralts-yenn, @courtlynwriter, @corrie1013, @squeezyvalkyrie, @summersong69, @livisss, @mayloma, @uunotheangel, @warriormirkwood, @sofiebstar

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

After Hours (Boss!Geto x Assistant!Self-Insert!Reader 18+ One Shot) [COMMISSION FILL]

Pairing: Geto Suguru x Self-Insert!Reader

Synopsis: In which Geto Suguru, your boss, and owner of his own public relations firm, celebrates a job well done on a five-month-long project with you, his trusty secretary, but what was once a friendly, professional relationship between you turns into something else when the staff goes home for the night and champagne gets involved.

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINORS GTFO); Reader is Black, Fem & Plus-Sized!; Crush Confession; Boss/Secretary; Some Power Play; Sexual Tension; Coworkers to Lovers; Office Sex; Mild BDSM; MDom/fsub; Geto Pours Champagne on the Titties & Kitty; Temperature/Sensory Play; Ice Play; Cunnilingus; Sex Against the Window; Geto Got a Big Ol' Dick; Unprotected PIV; Mutual O; Cum on Ass; Aftercare; Surprise Ending 

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: Once again, a big thank you to @curiouscutie143 for allowing me to bring her fantasies to life. I had so much fun writing boss!Geto & now I wanna lowkey write a longer fic about an office romance with him. Enjoy! -Jazz

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“Cheers,” your boss says with a smile. “To the successful end of this stupid fucking waste of time.” 

You laugh, lightly clinking your champagne flute with the extremely handsome, wealthy, intoxicating man sitting next to you on his office couch…who also, again, happens to be your boss. “It wasn’t a waste,” you giggle. “But I will say it was very time-consuming. At least we got it done in time.” 

Geto Suguru hums in agreement as he takes a sip of the champagne in unison with you, making even that look hot.

He is truly a man to behold with his long, black hair he kept tied into a respectable ponytail, a lean build under his button-down and slacks, gage earrings that he purposely kept in for tonight’s festivities, brown eyes you could swim in forever, and tattoos that he usually keeps hidden beneath his blazers and designer suit jackets, but tonight are exposed under his rolled-up sleeves. 

He puts all models and men to shame with his beauty. And wealth! He is his own boss and CEO of his own PR firm which he has owned for over six years now. It skyrocketed in popularity in only a year, earning the title of the 6th most popular business in Japan which has jumped to 2nd place on that list. You joined his team two years later as his personal secretary after working as an assistant for his HR team. 

Geto, who interviewed and hired you, was so impressed with your work and presentation that he offered you the job. “I need a personal secretary,” he explained to you, “and I think you’d be the perfect fit.” Two years later, you’re still here and you don’t see yourself going anywhere else. Geto is a wonderful boss who offers great pay, supreme benefits, and understands the importance of mental health days. 

Though he doesn’t allow anyone to play with him or his money. If he suspects that an employee is not giving him the most on the clock or is taking advantage of his kindness, he will either straighten them out himself with a private meeting or send them on their way. However, he is a kind, respectable, understanding man that you are honored to have worked for for four years. 

And a man that you have embarrassingly been crushing on for four years. “All thanks to you,” he praises. “I can’t tell you enough how grateful I am to you, V. Seriously; I so appreciate all of those times you’ve stayed late with me and the team and set up all of those lunch meetings and conference calls.” 

Those eyes, so generous and kind, smile at you in his spacious, luxurious office. Seriously; Geto’s office is like a damn penthouse stretching over 900 square feet with polished marbled floors and open-brick walls. A kitchenette, coffee section, wine mini bar, and bathroom sit on the left side of the office while his mahogany desk and bookcase sit on the right.

His lounging section, or “decompression area” as he calls it, sits smack dab in the middle, included with two chairs and a couch you both currently occupy with a glass coffee table sitting in the middle. 

Though the office is wide enough for space, you feel as if the walls are closing in on you the more you sit and stare at Geto. “Well, that’s my job anyway,” you joke, clearing your throat. “It was no trouble, Mr. Geto, really! I’m honored you chose me to work with you on this.” 

Geto scoffs, raising an eyebrow at you as he begins to loosen his tie with one hand. “You thought I wouldn’t?” he chuckles. “You’re my trusted assistant and a great employee. Plus, dealing with people is your specialty, unlike me. If anyone was needed on this project, it was you.” 

You feel like you flush as red as the cocktail dress you are wearing despite the fact you’re as Black as your mama.

Tonight was the celebration of your five-month project ending. Geto has been interested in partnerships and merging his firm with other companies, especially tech companies. When a popular tech firm in Germany reached out, it took about five months to get everything finalized and a lot of reaching out to multiple people. 

You sweated over this project, doing work at home, setting up meetings, and sometimes staying late with Geto and his business team where he ordered Chinese and pizza for the crew around dinnertime.

There were also days and nights when everyone wasn’t here then you’d be with Geto in his office, typing up memos and emails he would think of at the top of his head. But you didn’t mind. Not only did your boss pay you overtime for all the hours you spent working on this, but it also meant you could spend more time with him. 

Finally, just a week ago, the project was completed and Geto’s partnership was greenlit. All staff was invited to the party, including those who didn’t even work on it, to celebrate such a milestone for Geto’s firm. Food, alcohol, and music were all included, lasting from 5 PM to 9 at night.

You danced and sang karaoke with your coworkers and friends, trying to get Geto to join in though it was like trying to pull teeth out of his mouth. He looks more relaxed now as he loosens his tie and pops a collar to his shirt, revealing the column of his throat and toned chest. You look away, feeling warm. 

“Now I can finally rest without hurrying here at 6 AM to prepare for meetings or deal with that stupid fucking Excel chart,” he huffs, revealed. “And we’re blessed with a new partnership. Praise God or whoever.” He points his glass to the ceiling before taking a sip of the Brüte champagne. You giggle, feeling his relief. 

Suddenly, the door to his office opens and you startle as if you were just caught in a very compromising position with your boss. Gojo Satoru, your supervisor, Geto’s right hand, and the heart throb of the office (understandably since the man is just as fine as Geto), pokes his snow-white head into the room. 

“You two still in here?” he scoffs, glaring at you beneath his glasses. “Oooh, are those more of those cupcake cheesecakes?” He strides into the room and bends down to pluck one of the tiny cakes off of Geto’s desk, but Geto chucks a pillow at him. “Uh-uh, greedy,” he criticizes. “You barely left any of the food at the party earlier. Besides, aren’t you goin’ for dinner now?” 

Gojo catches the pillow with one hand, grinning. “Dinner and drinks,” he cackles. “Shoko, Yuki, and I were wonderin’ if you two wanted to come along and not be boring for once.” He slips his glasses down his nose and winks at you, indicating that he’s joking.  

Knowing his game and having this relationship with Gojo, you play along. “I am not boring,” you scoff, putting a hand to your chest. “My cat thinks I’m a lot of fun at 3 AM, thank you very much. I put on all kinds of concerts for her!” 

Geto gives a big laugh that lights your insides up while Gojo physically cringes. “Fun to us isn’t just downing shots and passin’ out on our couch, Satoru,” your boss scoffs. His friend takes a moment to think about it, sitting down on the edge of Geto’s desk. “Okay, point taken, but the offer is still open. C’mon, we need to celebrate and it’s a Friday night!” 

Even with his friend’s whining, Geto shakes his head, looking apologetic. “Thanks, but not tonight,” he sighs. “I wanted to clean up my office a bit before I head home and get some much-needed sleep.”

Gojo takes his glasses off and rolls his ocean-blue eyes. “Such an old man,” he huffs. “What about you, Ms. V? You up for some fun with me?” The gorgeous, Colgate smile he gives you is full of temptation, but you’ve already had enough drinking and dancing for tonight. 

“Thank you, Satoru,” you sweetly say, “but I have to get ready for a family event tomorrow. My mom is forcing me to help cook.” You get up from the couch and saunter over to him, barely seeing his eyes glazing over your hips. “Buuut if y’all ever decide to have another night out, let me know and I’ll put it on my calendar.” 

You take the pillow from him and offer him a sweet smile which he returns. It damn near makes him prettier. “Will do,” he replies. His phone suddenly dings and he sighs. “That’s Shoko chewin’ me out,” he announces, slipping off the desk and heading to the door on his long legs. “I’ll see you two kids later. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do…or do. I don’t give a fuck.” 

He gives you another wink and a smile before slipping out of the office and shutting the door behind him. “Have fun!” you call after him. Once he leaves, you realize how quiet the building seems. “Any of the janitors still here?” you curiously ask Geto. 

He is still sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the back of the couch and still sipping his champagne. “Nah, I sent everybody home after the party ended.” He gives you a curious look, almost looking like a puppy...or maybe that’s just the champagne getting to you. You only had a half of glass at the party and now you find your current glass empty. 

“How come you didn’t want to go with Satoru, if you don’t mind me asking?” he suddenly asks, his head cocked to the side. You don’t mind since Geto and you have a very “close” relationship. 

It’s one of the closest you have at work, ironically enough. You know what his condo looks like having visited there before to deliver papers and packages that accidentally came to the office.

You know his birthday and he knows yours, even sending you flowers to your apartment every year, each one bigger and more beautiful than the last.

You talk about anything that annoys or bothers you when you find yourselves together, even sometimes having lunch together (for work purposes). 

You would say that he is almost like your work husband, but that would be pushing it. You find yourself needing to remind yourself that he’s your boss! No matter how good he looks in his suits or the way you feel when he praises your work, you must remember that. This is your job. Your responsibility.

“Eh,” you sigh with a shrug. “Sometimes, I just like being home to unwind and relax. Nothing beats a glass of wine, a hot bath, and a movie.” Geto nods, understanding. 

“What about you?” you curiously ask as you sit back down beside him. “Why didn’t you go with Gojo? He’s your best friend, right?” 

Geto drains the rest of his glass before pouring another. “Unfortunately,” he jokes, making you laugh. He seems to enjoy that. “Nah, but I’m the same: sometimes, I like to unwind with some drinks and social outings, and other times, I just chill at home in my very spacious, very lonely condo with my dog. When you’re the owner of a PR firm, it’s usually the second one.” 

You can’t help but feel sad about that. “So was that story about your mom a lie?” he asks with a smirk. Sheepishly, you nod. “So I’m guessin’ that show for your cat is the move for tonight?” 

You would say yes, but something pulls you back. You don’t know if it’s the champagne or the way Geto’s cologne smells, but something is keeping you glued to the couch with him. “W-Well, I was gonna say I can help you clean up your office if you want…a-and drink the rest of this champagne!” You pick up the bottle and pour yourself another glass, raising it to him. 

Geto looks taken aback as he clinks his glass with yours. “I mean…if you want,” he hesitantly says. “You absolutely don’t have to stay for my sake, V. You’re not on the clock.” 

You flush, not wanting him to think you’re weird for staying here or that you have ulterior motives (which you do). “It’s okay!” you laugh, waving your manicured hand. “Really! Call me weird, but I kind of like organizing.” 

Geto laughs at this, getting up from the couch. “Well, now I know why your office is so pristine,” he chuckles. “Lemme turn on some music then.”

You watch him as he walks over this his desk, shamelessly ogling his firm, toned, juicy ass in his slacks. You would give so much to feel it in your hands, your nails digging into the flesh while his hips grind against yours, his cock buried deep inside your– 

The sound of a piano mixed with horns and a smooth bass makes you jump, deep in your naughty thoughts. Geto sighs and his shoulders loosen as he presses the volume up on his Bluetooth, happy and relaxed.

“Jazz music?” you snort. He gives you a sheepish smirk. “I know, I know: I’m an old man.” To make him feel better, you begin to snap your fingers, albeit offbeat, and that makes him laugh even harder. 

For the next hour, you sit with your boss and help him organize his office while downing champagne. While he rearranges items on his desk, you lounge on his couch with your heels off and organize documents, either throwing some away or keeping some to file. You talk every so often about everything––new movies, restaurants, plans for the summer, etc. But the silence that follows these conversations isn’t awkward, but peaceful and comfortable. You feel relaxed with Geto. 

“So what’s the plan for this weekend?” he suddenly asks as he organizes his bookcase. “Maybe a date or something?” You pause, not sure why this question is making you feel so frazzled. “If that’s too personal, I understand,” he quickly adds, noticing your reluctance to answer. 

You push your glass away, having already finished your second glass. You feel bubbly and loose, the alcohol sinking its claws into you. “No,” you reply, sheepishly so. “No dating for me right now with work and everything. Maybe one day if I find the right person.” 

Geto hums and goes back to organizing his books. You continue to work, mostly to give your hands something to do. “What about you?” you ask. “With your kinda money, you could take a weekend trip to Mexico for the hell of it, if you wanted!” 

Your boss suddenly turns, his expression stoic and a brow raised. “Exactly how much money do you think I have, Ms. L/N?” he asks in a deep voice that makes your pussy jump.

At first, you think you went too far but then you see the corner of his mouth flick upwards. “Like you don’t have a condo,” you scoff. “Which I know because I’ve sent you packages from work and secret admirers before.” 

Geto’s brows wrinkle cutely. “Secret admirers?” he parrots. You nod, already giggling at one particular memory. “You remember the flowers sent here when you were sick with COVID that time?” 

He blinks, clueless, and then his eyes widen. “Ohhh, yeah!” he laughs, tossing his head back. “God, Gojo wouldn’t leave me alone about that for weeks. She was an old partner of mine who heard through the grapevine that I was sick.” He turns and leans against his bookcase, his, big, tatted arms crossed over his chest. 

“Oh!” you exclaim, still shuffling papers. You want to give yourself something to do as the next question gnaws at you. “A…business partner?” you carefully ask. You never knew who this woman was that sent Geto the flowers; only that you didn’t know her but she knew your boss. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, giving you a smile that looks almost saddened. “I haven’t dated anyone long-term in over two years. Like you said, maybe one day if I find the right person, but that hasn’t happened yet.” He chuckles to himself. “You’d think it’d be easy with my status, right?” 

You don’t say anything for a while and the silence becomes thick even with the music playing. When he turns around to finish his work, you finally get up the nerve to speak to his backside. 

When you start, you can’t stop yourself, the champagne overflowing out of your mouth. “You know, if it’s any consolation to you, I-I think you’d deserve to meet someone nice,” you stutteringly say. “You’re a very good man, Mr. Geto.” 

And then he turns slowly to you and the way the city lights from the window reflect on his shocked face and in his eyes makes you realize what you just said. “V,” he says, his voice breathless and soft. You cover your mouth but it’s too late. You can’t take them back. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said that,” you quietly gasp. 

Immediately, you get up, but the papers you were organizing fall from your lap onto the floor. 

“I’m so, so sorry!” you squeak. “I-I should leave!” You’re near tears, a hot rush of humiliation falling on you. You fall onto your knees and begin picking up the papers, swearing as you do. 

“No, no, V,” Geto says, walking toward you. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry.” 

“No, I do!” you protest. “That was totally inappropriate! I don’t know why I–” You pause when your finger catches against the edge of a sheet of paper too quickly and it slices into your skin. 

“Ow!” you hiss, immediately snatching your hand away and dropping the paper. 

Quickly, Geto stops the music and rushes over to you. He kneels down in front of you, crushing the papers under his knees as if they mean nothing. “What happened?” he demands.

You silently show him your bleeding finger, whimpering at the sting. “Lemme see,” he says, already taking your hand. He examines the cut and frowns at it. “Oh, honey, it cut you deep,” he coos, the pet name making your stomach flip. He’s never called you that before. “Here, don’t move,” he orders and quickly hurries to his bathroom. 

He returns with a first aid kit and coaxes you to sit up on the couch. He takes your wounded finger in one hand, holding an alcohol swab in the other. “It may sting a bit,” he warns. “Just squeeze my leg if it’s too much.” And it does sting. You hiss and grip his thigh as he cleans the cut, watching your expression. “That’s it,” he softly coos. “Good girl.” 

Your stomach flutters and your body grows hot at the very inappropriate pet name, but what is more inappropriate are the past thoughts you’ve had about him calling you a good girl. His good girl. He smiles at you when he finishes cleaning the cut. “Hard part’s over,” he chuckles. “Now I’ll just add some antibacterial cream and a band-aid to make it all better.” 

You stay quiet as he applies the cream to your cut, his touch soft and gentle. “I’m sorry, Mr. Geto,” you whisper. He narrows his eyes at you. “What are you talkin’ about?” he scoffs. “V, you didn’t do anything wrong. It was just an accident. You could never do anything to upset me…except think that you don’t deserve to date right now.” 

The silence around you swells the instant he says it. “W-What?” you whisper, gaping at him. He continues his work, now wrapping the band-aid around your finger. “Y’know, if it’s any consolation to you, you deserve to meet the right man too. You’re so sweet and smart and beautiful…who wouldn’t want you?” 

Finally, he finishes and just looks at you. You look at him too, both of you just staring at each other in the dimly lit office. Geto finally breaks and pinches the bridge of the nose. “God, I really shouldn’t have said that,” he groans. “We shouldn’t be doing any of this.” 

Seeing his internal battle and realizing that he feels the same way you do, you keep your hand on his thigh and squeeze. “Suguru,” you softly say. “It’s okay.” 

He looks at you in shock. This is the first time you’ve ever used his first name, especially when talking to him. He moves closer to you, making the room feel like it’s shrinking. The city lights reflect in his eyes through the window, twinkling at you. “Say my name again,” he demands but it’s more like a plea. “Tell me what you want me to do, V. You can tell me to stop and I will.” 

You know this is very bad. You know this is wrong. You know that if you do this, you can never go back to the way things were. But you can’t turn back at this point. “Suguru,” you say again, “please. I want this.” You trail your hand up to his chest, feeling his heart pound against your fingertips. “I’ve wanted you for 5 years,” you confess. 

The restraint in Geto’s eyes finally dissipates and he places his hand on top of yours. “Fuck,” he growls. “I’ve wanted this too, V. You have no fuckin’ idea.” He takes both of your hands in his, gently stroking your knuckles with his thumb. “Can I kiss you?” he asks. You damn near choke, feeling like you’re about to faint. 

He scoots closer, close enough to do so himself…but he doesn’t. “I need your words, mama,” he murmurs.

Finally, you find the will to speak: “Yes,” you whimper and it’s enough to make Geto melt. “Kiss me, Suguru.” Immediately, he swoops in and takes you into his arms, holding you against him as he places the hottest, most passionate kiss you’ve ever had on your lips. 

His lips are soft and wet against yours, pulling you in farther and farther. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him flush against you. If this were a romantic comedy, there would be fireworks popping off outside the same way they are in your head. Geto pulls away, softly panting. “Keep talkin’ to me,” he whispers. “Tell me what you want from me.” 

He swoops in to kiss you again, drowning out your soft moans. “Touch me,” you plea into his mouth. “Put your hands on me, Suguru.”

He does just that, his big hands moving down your hips to pull you into his lap. You wrap your arms tight around his neck like a koala bear, latching onto his body. Geto wouldn’t have it any other way. He loves how your soft, pudgy body feels against him and sitting on top of him, your heat radiating from between your thighs against his crotch. Your kisses grow deeper and wetter, your tongues swirling against each other, arousing the both of you.  

“You’re wearing too much,” you whisper, tugging at his collar. He sniggers against your lips, his hands gripping your ass. “So are you,” he chuckles. “But we can help each other with that, can’t we?” Even without the seduction in his gaze, you wouldn’t resist. 

You begin to pop his buttons, yank off his tie, and peel his shirt off while he unzips your dress. You beat him, successfully getting him semi-naked. At the feeling and sight of his toned abs, pecs, and tatted, tanned skin, you damn near get a nosebleed. “Like whatcha see, babydoll?” he purrs. “Because I’m lovin’ what I’m seein’ right now.” 

He coaxes you to stand up in front of him and finally peels off your dress, exposing your lace bra and panties to him. At the sight of you standing between his thighs in only your underwear, stockings, and heels, Geto almost busts a nut. You’re so fucking beautiful, babydoll, shit,” he hisses. 

His hands glide down your sides before pulling you closer. You allow him to do what he wants, loving whatever he does, especially when he latches his lips onto your brown nipples. While he sucks and laps at your nipples, alternating between each, his big hands mold and fondle each juicy breast that his mouth can’t occupy. 

Your sultry, slutty moans are like music to him, way better than the jazz. “Fuck!” you moan. “Suguru…that feels so good!” Your head falls back and your eyes close, the pleasure immense. He’s so, so good with his mouth! You wonder just how good he is eating pussy. 

Geto suddenly looks up at you, his mouth still latched onto your hardened, brown nipple. 

“Lay back on the couch and put your arms over your head,” he orders you. You do so, shivering in delight at him telling you what to do. He then takes his empty champagne glass off of the table and pours himself a glass. 

“Lemme try something,” he pants before slowly pouring some of the champagne over your breasts. You gasp as each cold, little droplet hits your skin, making your nipples even harder. He then swoops down and begins to lap at the champagne, drinking it from between your cleavage and lapping it off your nipples. 

“Mmm,” you softly moan, melting into the couch cushion. You’re so relaxed that you barely notice the ice cube in Geto’s mouth until he’s dragging it over your neck and tits. You gasp, your back arching into his cold lips. 

He smiles, leaning back up with the ice cube in his mouth and giving you an open-mouth kiss. The ice cube falls into your mouth, immediately melting. “That feel good, babydoll?” he chuckles, loving the way your skin jumped at the cold ice cube. 

He continues to suck on your nipples while you grind your hips against his thigh wedged between your thighs. “My, you’re so vocal,” he hums. “Thank God the staff ain’t here or we’d be in big trouble.” He then sits up, straddling you, and slowly takes down his ponytail. Watching his locks of black hair cascade over his shoulders and back is more than you can handle. 

“I need more of you,” he says, sounding hoarse and in need. “Is it okay if I taste you, babydoll? I’ve been dreaming of what you’d feel like against my tongue for so long.” He doesn’t touch you. Not until you say so. Consent being so important to him makes you wetter, your cunt throbbing against his knee. “Yes, sir,” you moan. “Please taste me. I’m yours.” 

He yanks you closer by your legs, making you squeal. “Keep saying that,” he demands. He then hunkers down in between your legs, peppering your jiggly, luscious thighs in kisses. “I’m yours,” you say, a laugh slipping out of you. 

He takes your panties off of you, leaving your heels on. “I’m yours,” you gasp as his lips make contact with your fatter, softer ones down under. His tongue laps and licks at your folds, caressing your clit. He then begins to gently suck on the tiny bud, making your toes curl. “I’m yours, Suguru, fuck!” you moan, your hands lacing in his hair. “Please do that again!” 

Geto smirks against your pussy. “What?” he chuckles. “You mean this?” He does the same move again, this time swirling his tongue around your clit.

The pleasure is overwhelming, making your mind blank and emitting the sluttiest sounds out of you. “Shit, Sugu, yes, fuck!” you pant. “You’re s-so…oooo, fuck, baby, right there!” 

Geto continues to feast on your pussy, eating it up like it’s his last meal for a while. “Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ cute,” he groans against your slit, his tongue sliding down to your asscrack before sliding back up. “I like seein’ you like this. Keep makin’ more of those sounds for me, babydoll. That’s an order.” 

You can’t help it, so you do it, making as many moans, whines, and grunts as he wants. With the way he works his mouth against your pussy, it’s impossible to not. But when his hands move up to tweak and pinch your nipples, you almost explode.

“Yes, like that!” you whine. “I love that so much! Keep goin’, sir, please, sh-sh-shit!” You begin to grind your clit against his nose while his tongue explores your insides, his hot, wet mouth and cushiony lips too much to bear. You can’t take much more of this! “Shit, Suguru!” you moan. “Fuck, sir, I’m gonna cum!” 

“Mmm-hmm,” Geto hums, slipping his tongue out of you. He begins to suck on your throbbing clit again, making you see heaven. “Say the magic word,” he coos against your clit. Your hands grip his hair as your back arches into his ministrations, needing more. “Please, sir!” you whine. “Please, please let me cum! I need it, please!” 

His chocolate eyes peer up at you through the V of your thighs, demanding you to give him what he wants. “Give it to me, babydoll,” he orders. “Cum all over me. Fuckin’ do it.” As his voice drops several octaves, you feel shivers travel up and down your spine. Your core begins to tighten more and more as you grind against his magical mouth over and over again. 

When you cum, you cum hard. You’ve never had such an intense orgasm before. It tears through you, making you nearly arch off of the bed as you explode in Geto’s mouth. Moans and cries of pleasure leave your lips, tingles of ecstasy coursing through you. The man between your legs hungrily laps at your pussy, slurping up all of the cream that you give him. 

Finally, after several seconds, you come down from your high, aching in the best way possible. Geto pulls away with a sigh, his lips dripping with you. “You’re way better than the champagne,” he chuckles, licking your juices off of his lips. “Now I need more.” 

He seems to shift into a whole other person the more you look at him. His eyes darken and his hands massage your thighs a lot more as if he can’t get enough of them. “I’m sorry, babydoll, but you seem to have made me into a fiend,” he growls. “If you don’t want this, tell me now before I bust a hole through these pants.” 

He grips his hard-on pushing into his slacks and your eyes have never stretched so wide before. 

“B-But what about–” 

“You don’t need to take care of me,” he interrupts. “What you can do is lay back and let me fuck you like I need to.” He gazes down at you, molten lust evident in his eyes. “Will you let me, V?” he asks. “Is that okay with you?” 

Is that okay with you? Your pussy is dripping at the mention of finally getting what she and you both want. Finally!

Instinctively, you open your legs for him, exposing your soaked pussy to his naked eyes only. “Fuck me, sir,” you purr. “I want you so bad. Please, just fuck me now.”

Geto doesn’t need to be told twice. After planting another rough, wet kiss on your lips, he unzips his pants and shrugs his boxers down to his waist. 

Like a Jack-in-the-Box, his cock springs up, fat, long, and throbbing. You practically salivate at the sight of it. Smirkingly, Geto wraps a hand around himself and slowly slides himself home inside the wet, spongy walls of your pretty cunt, emitting a gasp from the both of you.

He looks down at you expectantly, waiting for you to give him the go to move. Once you have adjusted to his size and girth, you put your hands on his shoulders and nod, giving him a reassuring smile. 

He settles on top of you, keeping his arms on either side of you to hold himself up, and slowly begins to rock his hips. As soon as he begins to sheathe his cock in and out of you, you feel the pleasure you felt before return but it’s increased by 100. You are overwhelmed with ecstasy every time Geto pumps his cock inside of you and his pelvis rubs against your clit, unable to hold back the slutty sounds dripping from your open mouth. 

Geto smiles down at you, loving how adorable you look underneath him as you take his cock. He holds himself up with one hand to hold one of your juicy tits in his hand, loving how it jiggles as he fucks himself down into you. “So needy for me,” he sighs. “So fuckin’ cute.” His hips piston into yours just right, nailing that spot again and again as he fucks you into the couch. 

“Fuck, Sugu!” you cry, gripping his broad shoulders. “Please go faster! Fuck me faster, sir!” His handsome face flushed and black strands of hair falling in his face, Geto gives you what he wants. He sits up and grips your fleshy thighs before pumping his cock deeper and faster into you, causing the sounds of your moans to grow louder. 

If anyone were to be outside of the office right now, they would immediately know what’s going down in Mr. Geto Suguru’s office. The sound of sex–grunts, moans, whimpers, couch springs bouncing, skin slapping against skin–is way too obvious to pass it off as something else. The idea of that makes you wetter and tighter around Geto’s cock. It makes him damn near insane. 

Unable to control himself any longer, his big hands move under your ass to pull you to him. 

He then sits up with you and slowly stands, lifting you up with him. You gasp, gripping onto him tight like a cobra, and he chuckles. “I’ve got you, honey. Don’t worry, just hold onto me.” You do so as he walks over to his office window, the glittering lights of the city gleaming back at you. He slowly puts you down and wordlessly stares at you, his gaze dark and oh-so seductive. 

You don’t have to ask what he wants. Immediately, you turn around and place your hands on the cold glass of the window, sticking your ass out for him. “Damn, I didn’t even have to tell you to assume the position,” he chuckles. “I guess you’re feenin’ too.” His hand caresses your asscheeks, his thick fingers massaging them. 

You look down at the streets below, seeing people walking their dogs and having a night out on the town. You’ve never done anything like this before, but the idea of having sex in front of a window where anyone could look up and see you makes you wetter than you’ve ever been in your life. And nobody would ever know that it’s your boss giving you such good dick.

Your coherent thoughts are pushed to the back when Geto slaps his cock up against your asscheeks and then sinks himself back into your pussy. “Shit, baby!” he hisses, immediately going back to railing you. “You’re tighter than before.” 

You whine in response as he grips your hips, pumping himself into you like you’re no more than a toy. A fleshlight. His personal sex object. It’s so dirty. So wrong.

And yet it feels so, so good. You can’t deny how much you enjoy his thick cock stretching you out and sending sparks of pleasure throughout your brain. How much you love the sweet ache in your knees and your body. How much you love the way he makes your tits and ass jiggle as he fucks you.

Speaking of ass, Geto is a fiend for it, staring at the way it shakes and jiggles as he fucks your pussy. “I need to see this ass bounce for me,” he shudderingly groans, giving your ass a harsh smack. You gasp at the sting, the nasty act of it making your pussy throb around him. 

“Do that again!” you whine and he does, the pain mixing with the pleasure as he sinks his cock back into you again and again, going deeper and deeper each time. You have to brace yourself against the window the more he pounds into you, going so fast that he could damn well put a pornstar to shame with his stamina. “Fuck, Sugu, yes!” you sob. “Y-Yeah, just like that, fuck me just like that!” 

“Fuck me back, babydoll,” he demands. “Work for that cum, c’mon. Be a good secretary for me.” You do so, pressing into your heels and tossing your ass back into him. “God, that’s it!” he moans, giving you another spank as a reward. “I’ve always dreamed of fucking you like this. Always wanted to see you like this.” 

You want to tell him the same, but your tongue is tied, the pleasure making you crazy as you begin to frantically rub your clit. You can quickly feel that knot in your stomach about to snap the more he fucks you. You feel him press himself against you, pushing you into the window. You gasp as the cold glass touches your bare, brown tits pushed against the window while Geto’s big, rock-hard body pushes against your back. 

“You wanna cum with me, babydoll?” he pants into your ear. “Tell me. Tell me you wanna cum with me.”

You can feel the wetness begin to drip down your thighs and stain his balls, no doubt getting on the floor. “Tell me you want me to give you my cum,” he growls. “Say it. Tell me where the fuck you want it.” 

Somehow, you find the words to speak and scream out, “Yes! Yes, sir, I want your cum! Do it on me, please! I don’t care where! Just please, please cum with me!”

That just about makes Geto snap. He turns your face and tongue kisses you, his lips and mouth tasting like a night of champagne. You don’t speak as he continues to rail you, chasing his orgasm at full speed and taking you along for the ride.

When you both finally cum, you do so together. He manages to pull out of you quickly and pumps his cum all over your plump, soft, perfect ass while you do so onto his hand, his fingers replacing yours. 

Swears, sobs, and moans leave your lips as you’re finally released like a genie in a bottle, your orgasm hitting you dead on. It drains all of the energy out of you, making your knees buckle and your body feel weak.

“I’ve got you,” Geto softly says, hugging you to him from the back. “Just melt into me, mama. It’s okay.” 

Deliriously and happily, you smile, doing as he says. You loop an arm around his head, bringing him closer to you. You don’t ever want to leave his arms. You want to stay like this forever, pressed against him in his office, while the rest of the world turns and moves outside. At some point, you both sink onto the floor and just stay there for a while, silence descending onto you. 

Once the pleasurable fog of your orgasm fades, the concrete realization hits you like a truck: you just had sex with your boss. Geto seems to know what you’re thinking though and turns your face towards his. “Tell me how you feel,” he tells you, his eyes firm but soft. “Listen, I don’t want you to regret what we did, Y/N, ‘cause I don’t. This was real for me.” 

He bites on his bottom lip, looking flushed and nervous. You’ve never seen him look like that before. “I know this was a lot, but if you want, I’d like to turn this into something more. But it’s all up to you.” You blink at him, wondering if he’s serious. He continues to hold that firm yet nervous look, his eyes hopeful. 

After sex like that, you’d be crazy to say no! You place a hand on his cheek and move in to kiss him softly. He accepts the kiss, his lips dancing with yours before you pull away. “I’m ready to try if you are, sir,” you softly answer. “But dinner would be nice.”

Geto begins to laugh and kisses your hand. “Of course,” he chuckles, sounding relieved. “You like Italian? Or maybe ramen? I know this place that just opened that–” 

Knock, knock, knock! Quickly, Geto places himself in front of you, blocking you from whoever is at his office door. Fear jumps inside of you, making your stomach churn. “I thought you said nobody was here!” you hiss. 

“There isn’t,” he whispers. “Or there wasn’t supposed to be.” He clears his throat, giving a clear, short, “Yes?” 

“Brooo, it’s me!” Gojo shouts through the door. “I think I dropped my wallet in here! Can ya let me in?” Geto turns to you, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What do you think, babydoll?” he asks. “Should we let my friend in?” 

You don’t know why you say yes or why your pussy throbs despite having just orgasmed twice, but Geto gives Gojo the okay and he comes waltzing into the office. At the sight of his best friend and his personal secretary sitting naked on the floor in their afterglow, Gojo’s blue eyes widen in shock… 

And then they grow hooded with lust. “Well, well,” he chuckles. “It’s about fuckin’ time.”

He begins to loosen his tie, giving you a flirty smile. “I hope it ain’t too much to ask if I can join, babe.” 

THE END. 

Fan Art by @almaadst

[olath124]

OC Interview

For this sucker fascinating person.

Name?

Don’t you already know me? Elroy Vincennes. I’m quite notorious, you know?

Nickname?

I’d rather keep it as Mr. Vincennes, usually. My close friends call me Elroy. My CLOSEST friends call me Roy. If you have to ask, stick with Mr. Vincennes, please.

Gender?

Male, cis.

Star sign?

I’m a Scorpio. 

Height?

1.78 cm/5'10". Usually not the tallest person in the room. But I'm taller than a certain someone and that's enough.

Orientation?

Do people still care about this kind of stuff? I’m pansexual. I don’t really care about what people have in their pants, I’m more interested in what happens in their heads.

Nationality/Ethnicity

I consider myself American. But my family has French origins, as you can probably tell from my surname. But yeah, I was born here. Went back to France often, though, as a kid.

Favorite fruit?

Peaches. Had the luck to taste a few right from the tree.

Favorite season?

My favorite is summer. I like the summer in Provence, that’s where I go whenever possible.

Favorite flower?

Jasmine. They look innocent and sweet but have an alluring scent. Like someone who’s keeping a secret.

Favorite scent?

As before, probably jasmine.

Coffee or tea?

Coffee, always. Black preferably and preferably not the shit they sell in NC.

Average hours of sleep?

Very little. Around 3 hours, I usually go to bet from 6 to 9. I’ve never needed too much sleep, and the night hours are when I work best.

Dog or cat person?

Stupid dogs surround me, but I’d say I’m more of a cat person. It’s more interesting when it feels like there’s something to conquer.

Dream trip?

Well, it’s not a dream trip because I go there whenever I can. But I like France. My family is from there and I still have an estate in Provence. I like going there, now that they are out of the picture.

Favorite fictional character?

I don't care about fictional characters. I like historical ones. My favorite is Vincent van Gogh. You know… the blend of art and madness. He’s someone I feel close to.

Number of blankets you sleep with?

One. Silk preferably. And with a decent threads count. Yes, I’ve developed some fancy tastes in my life.

Random shit?

I've left my family for a long period. Since I was fourteen until I was twenty-two. Joined a gang, pretended I was like any other hopeless street-kid there. It was fun. I ended going back to my family because, you know, money don't suck.

But it gave me perspective. And the edge to succed in what I make. My family money helped me, too, of course. But that period was an important part of who I am now, anyway. I've also made my closest friends in that time.

[allyricas]

Moving On pt. 2

part one

3,180k words

The day of the trip to Indy finally arrives and the weather does not reflect the excitement Steve feels as he loads his last bag into the trunk of his car. He knows he overpacked but wants to be ready for anything. He also has a cooler full of drinks and sandwiches along with enough junk food to make anyone sick.

He and Robin had decided to make sure they had plenty of food so they could settle in to their hotel and chill the first night. Robin had an early campus tour and Steve had a meeting with an advisor at the community college he’d be taking his cosmetology courses. They had a packed schedule considering they needed to find an apartment and jobs (together if possible) and the urge to scope out the gay scene. Or find it, at the very least.  

Steve pulled into Robin’s driveway and saw that she’d also slightly overpacked. Two halves of the same soul, the two of them. He got out and helped her load up her bags. She was holding a thermos of something and wearing a pair of Steve’s sweatpants. That’s where those went. He’d been looking for them for a week. Robin had a tendency to steal his clothes which mostly just made Steve feel all loved and shit, so he only complained for appearance’s sake.  

“Rob, my fucking sweatpants. Come on, I’ve been looking for them.” He whined. He truly didn’t mean it all.  

“Shut up, they are my pants now. They look hotter on me.” She laughed, doing a pathetic little shimmy. She was not a morning person. The messy bed head and the large amount of coffee she was inhaling made this apparent. “I am so tired, but really fucking excited. I brought the music. You are banned for the entire drive up and back. I will fucking jump out of this car if you play any sad, pining music. This is fun time not sad boy time.”   

“That tape has Whitney and George Michael on it. It’s not a total sad fest.”  

“Liar. You cry the most whenever careless whisper comes on.” Robin replied viciously.  

“Let’s uh, not talk about that please.” Steve knew he was still whining a bit, but Robbie was mean in the morning.  

The drive up went smoothly despite the terrible weather. Fifteen minutes into the drive, it started to torrentially rain. Thunder shook the car and lightning lit up the sky. Robin did in fact have all upbeat music and refused to let Steve play anything remotely sad. This was good as he was feeling rather happy in the moment. At one point it rained so hard, Steve had to pull over and wait for it to slow down as Robin started hyperventilating. What should have been an hour and fifteen-minute drive took three hours, but time spent with his best friend was always good.  

Navigating the city was invigorating (for Steve) and anxiety inducing (for Robin), but they both could barely contain their excitement when they finally pulled up to the motel they're staying at. It’s a little mom and pop place that Joyce and Hop had recommended. Why those two have a favorite motel in the city, Steve doesn't want to think to much about.

It’s a cute place, white shutters and soft yellow paint with a rustic looking sign that says The Mosey Inn. The rooms were entered from the outside, with parking all around the place. There were plants everywhere and everything had a well-loved appeal. It’s a rather nice little place. He goes in to check them in and there is an older woman at the desk. She's one of those people who radiates kindness and Steve likes her right away.  

“Hello there, dear. Welcome to the Mosey Inn. I’m one-half of Mosey, but you can call me Elise.” She’s smiling softly at him as he walks up to the desk. 

“Hi, I have a reservation for Harrington. For a suite with two queens.” He finds he’s nervous which feels silly. He grew up checking into hotels and dealing with reservations. Usually, it was at swanky hotels that his parents would leave him in before he was old enough to be all alone at home.  

“Of course, sweetie. Joyce and that sweet Jimmy told me all about you the last time they visited for the weekend. I just adore them. Jimmy did some handy work for me and the missus last time they were here. We’re getting up there in age and my Maggie cannot be climbing ladders anymore. I always give them a discount and I like the look of you, dear. I’ll give you one too.”

She’s beaming at Steve like she is thrilled to meet him which is not something he’s exactly used to. He’s thinking over what she said. The missus, her Maggie. He looks around the room and spots a tiny pink triangle on a bookshelf. Oh. This was a safe place. He owed Hop and Joyce dinner because this was the nicest surprise he’d gotten in a long time. He'd definitely be calling Hopper by the nickname Jimmy though.

“Thank you so much, ma’am. I know my friend Robin and I are going to enjoy this trip even more now knowing this is a safe place for people like us.” That felt as close to telling a stranger he was gay he could manage, but it felt huge to say it. It meant something to find this little piece of community with two women who were old enough to be his grandmothers. He felt like he might cry and for once, there were happy tears brimming in his eyes.  

“Please, call me Elise. There’s no ma’am, none of that uppity nonsense. This place is for friends, you understand.” She told him in a voice so genuine that Steve choked back a sob. He handed over his credit card and she handed him two room keys. “We offer breakfast and lunch, usually buffet style unless we say otherwise. There’s a coffee station around the corner and there’s always some sort of snacks next to it. If you need anything just give us a ring. Feel free to come chat anytime. Enjoy your stay.” 

“I think I will, Elise. I’ll bring Robin around to meet you once we’re settled, probably for breakfast tomorrow!” 

_________________________________________

As soon as Steve got back into the car, he excitedly told Robin all about Elise and her partner and how the Inn was a safe place for them. The fact that Joyce and Hopper stayed here whenever they wanted a night or two away from the chaos of their little blended family filled Steve with joy. He knew that they weren’t hateful people, but this was outright acceptance by the adults he respected most in his life. Robin was rambling on about the décor of the inn as he lugged their many suitcases into their room. She just smiled at him as he struggled.

It was cozy with two queen beds and a little kitchenette and a sitting area off to the side. There was a good size bathroom and closet. It was decorated in soft hues of yellow and green with floral bedding. It was lovely and Steve felt immensely at home in this place.  

“This place is so cute!” Steve exclaimed happily, finally collapsing onto his bed. It was comfortable too. “Damn, this is going to be a nice trip. Elise said they offer 2 meals, that there’s a coffee station with snacks and this bed is fucking soft as hell.” 

“So basically, we can save a ton of money and try to eat here most of the time is what I'm hearing you say Steven?” This seemed to genuinely thrill Robin.  

“Absolutely, we can go visit with them tomorrow during breakfast. It’s from 6:30 to 8:30.” Steve knew this was going to cause some mild stress for Robin. This delighted him. 

“Ugh, ugh. For free breakfast and fellow lesbians, I will get up. You might have to drag me though.” 

Steve laughed, delighted at the prospect of waking Robin up in the morning. It was early evening, but they decided to munch on the leftover food from the drive in and relax. There was a small tv, so they found something to put on and got comfortable. The day so far had been nearly free of sad thoughts over Eddie, but it seemed inevitable that Steve would start to think about him. For one thing, Eddie would look ridiculous in the Mosey Inn, although he would thoroughly appreciate the pun. Yet, there was a part of Steve wishing that Eddie was a part of all of this.

Before he’d ruined everything, Eddie would have been invited on this trip without a second thought. If only he could go back and not fall in love with stupid Eddie Munson. Steve worries that falling for him would have been inevitable though. Everything about him made Steve crazy.

The moment he knew he was monumentally fucked was a few months after everything with Vecna went down. Eddie had still been in the hospital, thankfully cleared off all charges with Hopper back in charge. He’d been high off his ass on morphine and smiling at Steve. Eddie had looked at Steve and said, “Stevie, sweetheart—you beautiful man. How come you’re always sitting around here taking care of me huh?” and Steve had known several things.  

He wanted Eddie to smile at him like that for the rest of his life. He really enjoyed being called sweetheart. And the reason he was always hanging around was because he wanted to be with Eddie. Eddie who always lit up with joy when he saw Steve sitting by his hospital bed. All the time they spent walking that line between friends and more, or at least that’s what Steve thought.

He swore there was so much flirting back and forth. Like the time Steve snuck in cheeseburgers, fries and milkshakes from the one diner left open in town and Eddie had told Steve, “All this for little old me?” while literally twirling his hair like a schoolgirl. Or when Steve brought in books for him and Eddie had just clasped Steve’s hand tight and said nothing, just staring intently at him like Steve really meant something to him.  

All misread apparently. It wasn’t flirting at all, just Eddie being Eddie. And Steve had ruined it. He tried not to spiral into his bad thoughts too much but he felt like he always ruined everything. Robin might be his best friend, his platonic soulmate and other half, but it’d been so nice to have a close guy friend.

Eddie had barely been out of the hospital when Steve had driven him up to Indy to replace some of his things lost to the earthquakes. There were better record stores and better thrift stores, and Eddie had very little left to his name. The trailer was gone. He’d even lost his beloved guitar. Steve had never planned on telling Eddie how he felt during that trip, but Eddie has a way of needling things out of people. Something Steve usually finds quite adorable, but not so much when it’s his own unrequited feelings.  

Sighing to himself, Steve sits down by the phone to call Dustin and tell him they made it to the city safely. This means actually calling Mike’s house since the boys are having their weekly nerd fest. The whole group of them are all a little codependent, but after everything they’ve been through it seems reasonable. Unfortunately, Mike nor Nancy answers the phone. It’s Karen Wheeler and she lets Steve know that the boys are all over at Eddie’s apartment playing their little game. That’s exactly what she calls it which does make him chuckle.

He dreads calling Eddie’s place, but he did promise Dustin he’d call. Dustin is already asking questions about him and Eddie. If he’s weird on the phone it will only fan the flames of Dustin’s incessant need to meddle. He dials the number and tries to psyche himself up for the interaction. Maybe one of the kids will answer.  

“Munson Residence, Eddie the Banished speaking?” Eddie’s voice fills Steve’s ear. It’s like a punch to the gut, but Steve takes a deep breath.  

“Is that how you really answer the phone all time or am I just lucky?” Steve asks lightly. Do not make this weird. Be cool. “Or is it just because you’re playing dungeons and whatever?”  

“Ha, Ha. I knew it was you telepathically, so I of course had to answer the phone accordingly. My liege, what can I do for you on this fine summer evening?” 

“You’re lucky it’s cute to be such a fucking nerd.” Shit, shit, shit. Abort flirting. “Kidding, kidding. I called to see if Dustin is still there. I told him I’d call when we got settled.” 

“Rude, I am absolutely the cutest nerd. I’d dare say, adorable even. The fairest in the land, perhaps.” Eddie’s voice had gone low and Steve would bet a hundred bucks he was twirling his hair. What the fuck? “You know, you obviously like nerdy shit considering you-” 

“Hey stop flirting with Steve and let me talk to him, I've been waiting to hear from him all day. We’re in the middle of a campaign Steve. We need our DM not whatever the fuck he was just doing.” Dustin says this all like he knows for a fact that everything he says is true. It’s not.

“Tone, dusty bun. I’m not gay and I wasn’t flirting with Harrington, just messing with him. He’s just so easy to tease. We’re just buddies like that, right man?” Eddie replied, his voice no longer soft, low and sweet. In fact, Eddie sounded hostile. Steve felt his stomach turn. He couldn't even reply.  

“Nothing wrong with being gay, you moron.” Dustin replied firmly. This made Steve smile considering Dustin didn’t even know about Steve yet. He was definitely his favorite kid. Dustin continued on “I mean, we’ve fought literal monsters. Of all things to get worked up over, being gay is not even on the damn list!”   

“I didn’t mean it in a rude way, just saying we were not flirting.” 

“Whatever you say Eddie.” 

“Um, hello guys I am still on the phone.” Steve yelled as the two of them continued to bicker. “I have to go, but I’ll call in a few days Dustin. Bye Eddie.” Steve replied, trying his best not to cry. 

“Wait-Harrington. Steve, I didn’t mean anything by that okay.” 

“Yeah of course, no worries, man. Talk to you later.” Steve knew his voice was emotionless.  

_______________________________

He had to get over Eddie. This confusing back and forth was so painful. Steve didn’t consider himself the brightest, but that felt like flirting. What straight guy calls himself the fairest of the land or adorable to another man? Eddie’s tone of voice was the exact same tone Steve had used so many times to flirt with girls. He knew what flirting looked like. He shouldn’t have started it with the cute comment, but Eddie had most certainly flirted back. He looked over at Robin who was sitting up and waiting patiently for Steve to hang up the phone.  

She looked worried. If his face was at all reflecting how he felt right now, he understood why. The way Eddie has sounded when he said he wasn’t flirting. He told Robin the entire conversation verbatim and he watched her face go through a myriad of emotions. Despite the fact that Robin wasn’t the most tactile person, she threw her arms around him and let him cry all over her t-shirt.  

“Well, I could just kill him. I swear to fucking God. If he’s not gay, fine. But why flirt back?” 

“Maybe he really isn’t flirting. He said he was just messing with me. Maybe we’ve been reading it wrong this whole time!” Steve cried.  

“Fuck that, even Dustin called him on it. He flirts with you all the time. If he’s just messing with you at this point, it’s cruel. Especially now that he knows you’re gay and have feelings for him. I won’t be friends with a bigot.” 

“No, Robbie. I don’t think he’s a bigot. He’s just trying to deal with all this. It’s not his fault I had to go and fall for him. I always fall for the first person who shows me any attention. I ruined this. He’s just...I think he’s a flirty person and I’m just the idiot who thought it meant something.” 

“Shut your whore mouth Steven Elizabeth. That’s absolute nonsense. Eddie is a socially awkward, metalhead D&D playing virgin. You and I both know it. I’ve never seen him so much as look at a girl in a romantic way. He barely talks to anyone he doesn’t know unless it’s to cause a scene. That boy is not a natural flirty person. He flirts with you. He’s either an idiot, a repressed idiot or an asshole. Pick one.” 

“He’s not a virgin, no way. Look at him. Some people go for the whole alternative thing. He’s in a band for fuck’s sake. I bet he’s fucked lots of girls. I mean, he is objectively hot.” Steve argued.  

“Steve!! You always defend him like some sort of rabid groupie, but if that man has so much as seen a real-life titty, I will eat my shoe. He isn’t ugly, I will grant you that one. But please, Eddie Munson is not banging hot chicks on the regular.” 

“I pick that he’s an idiot. I do not think Eddie would purposefully hurt me by flirting just to be all ‘ha-ha, gay boy you fell for it’ when he didn’t even know I was gay until I told him how I felt. I think he just likes to tease me, like he said and he doesn’t know how flirty it comes off maybe?” 

“Dingus. You are in love with him. You are no objective source on the situation.” 

“Can we just... pretend Eddie Munson doesn’t exist for a few days. I won’t play my mixtape. I will try not to mope... let’s just find an apartment and visit your campus and apply for jobs everywhere we can find. It hurts too much to talk about right now.” 

Steve knows he’s lying to Robin. It’s impossible for him to pretend Eddie doesn’t exist. It’d be nice to try though. Instead of trying, he wonders what Eddie’s thinking about back in Hawkins. Is he feeling bad for how he spoke to Steve tonight? Is he also worrying over every little thing he said? Does Eddie even care that what he said felt like a slap to the face? The way he’d said Harrington, instead of Steve. The disgust in his voice when he’d said he wasn’t flirting. At least it was crystal clear that Eddie would never reciprocate his feelings. It feels nearly impossible, but Steve knows he has to let go of Eddie and move on. Two weeks in Indy with Robin should be the perfect way to start trying.   

@koyislosinghismind

@lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring

@dilutedpondwater

@r0binscript

@wheatnoodle

@randomnessbecausewhynot